Four Points of Attack
by Roy Olsen
Summary: A complete story from the eyes of the Joes and Cobras who fought it. Both G.I. Joe and Cobra want control of Sammeston Island, but a third party ruins everything for both sides! Sea, land and air battles galore! Please R&R!
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

**Getting Started**

1.

There was no doubt about it: cooking chicken was harder than shooting a .50-caliber machine gun. At least really good chicken. The kind of perfect delicacy that Roadblock's ten-inch wide hand's were masters at creating.

Tonight those hands would be creating one of the big gunner's favorites: Chicken Cordon Bleu. Not a particularly difficult recipe, but one that took a perfect balance of soft hands and a focused eye.

That was a reason Roadblock loved cooking. He spent so much time with his giant machine gun, having to be rock solid, flexing every muscle that he had, and honestly unable to accurately aim that insanely violent steel pipe. Here, he could be the opposite, practicing soft movement and perfect placement.

But first, he had to be a little tough, and flatten the chicken breasts with the meat mallet. This task always proved to be a bit difficult for him, but he was getting better. This time, he didn't crack the countertop.

Tonight meant so much to the big Joe machine gunner that instead of buying slices of ham, he cooked an entire ham, then sliced it himself. The pieces were deli perfect, and Roadblock laid them on the chicken breasts, then added the Swiss cheese slices—the most expensive brand available at the store.

How many times had Roadblock made this dinner? He couldn't remember. It was one of the first things he learned at chef's school, before he left and joined the Army. He never regretted joining the army, but he sure wished he could have completed chef's school. He had to teach himself all his gourmet recipes, and despite his friends' praise, he could never be sure that he got the ingredients right.

After the chicken was rolled, he began cooking it, frying it in a big Army skillet; that was one benefit about the Armed forces—bulk sizes.

Cooking the chicken was the delicate step. Roadblock had burnt so many chickens that he squinted now just thinking about it. As the feast cooked, he wiped his hands on his "Kiss the Chef—NOW!" apron that Rock 'n' Roll had given to him. That guy was happy with just burgers and soda. Roadblock felt sorry for him.

After turning the chicken over, the big gunner stirred the sauce. The mushrooms smelled perfect, but they needed a little more white wine. It was time to ready the plates—five plates, each with vegetables and parsley, practically begging for their main course. Roadblock checked the meat again. It was perfect, as usual. How could he have doubted himself? Each plate received their Cordon Bleu, and each delicacy was smothered in the special mushroom sauce.

The girls were gonna love it.

Roadblock flicked the stove off and filled a big tray with the plates. It was easily picked up by the monstrous G.I. Joe machine gunner. Just as he was going to exit the kitchen, he realized he was still wearing his apron; he flung it onto the counter with his left hand. The tray bonked the door open and the cheering started.

"Hello, ladies, you're in for a treat, 'cause I promise you gals, this dinner is

sweet!"

2.

_Damn!_ His helmet wouldn't fit. Again. The latch…wouldn't…fit! _Damn!_ It snapped off! Oh, he could take it down to the repair shop, but those jerks would just tell him his head was getting too fat…again. That's what they always said. They were uncivilized morons.

Besides, he didn't want anyone to see his face. If he didn't have his helmet, he'd have to find a mask. Probably another hood…and the last time he wore a hood, he got reprimanded and nearly shot for impersonating Cobra Commander. _It wasn't even blue._

No, he was Wild Weasel, Cobra's Ace Pilot…and owner of the worst fitting helmet. What did Destro do when his face wouldn't fit quite right?

Taking the helmet off, he once again used a screwdriver and some glue to re-attach the mangled clamp. This process had been performed so many times, the clamp couldn't survive many more "repairs," but it was all he could do.

_Click._ Ah, the sound he prayed for. His identity was safe again, locked away in his red and black flight suit. But this was only step one. Step two was even more difficult.

The upper-platform entrance into the hangar closed behind him as the sight before him brought on both a smile, and a deep growl.

Excitement came from seeing his favorite jet once again—his personal Rattler attack jet. He had flown dozens of Rattlers during his stint with Cobra, but this one was special—it had lasted seven battles, and scored nine kills. It was his lucky ace plane, even if one of the kills was a Cobra Condor shot by accident, it was still a kill. This Rattler was indestructible.

The frustration didn't come from the aircraft in the hangar, but the hangar itself. It was cracked, warped and constantly leaking water. The planes and helicopters were kept in sad shape because they were drenched, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. This hangar was on Cobra Island, a little rock sitting in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico. Tropical storms and hurricanes had been tearing the little island apart. The beautiful main underground hangar had caved in during the last hurricane, so all remaining aircraft had been moved up to this broken little warehouse, which, in Wild Weasel's opinion, couldn't possibly survive the next storm.

But tonight's frustration exploded when Cobra's Ace Pilot noticed a flaw on his perfect plane: the intakes were uncovered and taking in massive amounts of dripping water. "Hey, Officer!" he yelled down to the floor commander, "What happened to the tarps covering my Rattler's engines?"

The commander looked up at the engines, then, showing no interest, looked back at his information notebook. "We were ordered to transfer them to other vehicles in the hangar."

Wild Weasel ran down the stairs from the upper-platform's entrance. "Are you trying to ruin my jet? Who ordered you to move those tarps?"

The officer looked back at the pilot with cold eyes. "Our orders came from a higher rank than you!"

Cobra's Ace Pilot realized he would have to do a little research in order to get an answer. It only took a short walk across the hangar find his tarps resting atop the Dreadnok Thunder Machine, sitting by the main entrance.

"You were ordered by Zartan?" asked Wild Weasel in disbelief.

"Exactly." Replied the Cobra Officer, "And no one says no to him. Excuse me." The floor commander walked off, leaving the Cobra pilot in teeth-grinding rage.

3.

Water was one of God's great gifts to the Earth, but it was often an obstacle to man. Mankind loved to conquer obstacles, no matter how much whining or crying people did about the difficulties. If there weren't challenges to conquer, there would be nothing to be proud of.

For Torpedo, water was his challenge. Swimming in full gear made it that much more difficult, and rewarding. How long had he been swimming in the pool? He couldn't remember. After a while he just tuned the pain out. There were a lot of Joes who struggled to gain size and brute strength. Not Torpedo. For him, it was all about staying sleek and durable. When you're floating out at sea, unable to see land in any direction, size wasn't going to get you to a shoreline.

Still, being the Joe's best swimmer wasn't getting him much mission time. His land-fighting skills were a bit rusty—too rusty for Duke's taste. Torpedo was a SEAL, and even a rusty SEAL was a darn good troop, but he was also a G.I. Joe SEAL, and rusty didn't cut it.

Figuring it was time to change focus, Torpedo took one more lap, then stopped at the pool edge and lifted his goggles. He needed to get out and run the obstacle course, and he definitely needed to work the rifle range.

Before he could climb out, a hand reached down to him. The Joe SEAL looked up to see the Joe Coast Guard Officer looking down at him. Torpedo grabbed his friend's hand and was pulled up out of the water.

"Cutter! To what do I owe this honor?" he asked as he wiped himself off.

"That was quite an impressive swim."

Torpedo started bagging his gear. "Thanks. Not a record-breaker for me, but definitely reminds me that I'm getting older." The SEAL suddenly got very nervous. "So…what's up?"

The Joe Coast Guard Officer smiled. "I came to ask you to a little party."

Torpedo tensed up even more. "Party" usually meant "Briefing" here at G.I. Joe Headquarters, a.k.a. the "PIT."

"Uh…can I have a little time to change myself?"

Cutter lifted his hand. "Don't worry, it's not until eighteen-hundred hours. I just wanted to warn you ahead of time."

The tension clamped even harder. "Warn me of what?

Cutter's eyes grew very stern. "That if you want a chance at this mission, you better spend the next two hours busting your butt off at the obstacle course and rifle range."

Wow. Torpedo's friend was always good at predicting enemy movements, but reading minds… The Joe SEAL realized what his friend was doing for him and made a mental promise to buy him a beer. "Yes, sir. I'll head over there immediately."

"Get moving." With that, Torpedo tore off his flippers and ran to his quarters, still sopping wet. Cutter smiled and shook his head.

4.

Lampreys. Nobody knew who Lampreys were. Oh, everyone knew the big boat that they drove. "Look out! It's a Cobra hydrofoil!" But did anyone ever say "Oh no! It's piloted by a Lamprey!" No. No one cared about Lampreys. Well, if no one was going to care about Lamprey First Class Niles Skellar as an individual, than he was going to make sure they never forgot his hydrofoil, or more accurately, his Moray.

Everyone had called them just "hydrofoils" for so long, that there were plans on calling the new Cobra sea troops "Morays," obviously forgetting that they had already called their top sea assault craft by the same name. _Bah_. Lamprey 1st Class Niles Skeller wouldn't forget. He was destined to be a Moray pilot.

The docks spread about the bay of Cobra Island were nothing like the beaten wooden docks on the Scottish Coast where Skellar grew up. He swore he would never be a poor fisherman like his father was, but he could never get the lure of the ocean out of his blood. When Cobra offered him powerful sea craft, along with a rudimentary sense of security, he couldn't resist.

As he walked across the concrete and steel docks towards his Moray, he knew he'd never have to fish another day again. Despite the heavy rains, his hydrofoil shone the brightest. He had cleaned it so many times that the other craft looked disgusting next to it. Rain was no friend, though, and he wished he had a tarp to throw over the top of the Moray. For some bizarre reason, though, all the tarps were confiscated into the new hangar. Someday he'd have to go there and see why, although Skellar couldn't imagine what use tarps would be on planes kept inside a sealed building.

"That's a mighty pretty boat you've got there, mate." Skellar spun around to see…a Dreadnok?

"What do ya want, umm…?" It was impossible to remember the names of all of these morons. Most people are scared to death by Zartan's henchman, but this Lamprey had a Moray to protect.

"Monkeywrench is me name. But no needs ta get feisty. I'm just admiring yer boat is all."

Skellar stepped into his line of view. "Well, now you've seen it. Leave me be." But it was too late. Niles could see the determination in the Dreadnok's eyes.

"Well, now, ya see, I wish I could be doin' that, but I was sent down here by me boss Zartan ta find a nice boat ta be using' for a mission…" Monkeywrench reached over Skeller and pointed at his Moray, "And seein' how yers is the prettiest, I think I'll be pickin' yours."

The Cobra Lamprey looked down and started to chuckle. "So, you think that I'm going ta let some stupid Dreadnok take ma Hydrofoil out to sea and trash it?"

Monkeywrench was shocked by Skellar's gall. "Who do ya think you are, tellin' a Dreadnok he can't do what he wants with yer stupid boat?"

Niles could hear the squeaking of his rubber gloves. "I'm a Moray pilot." With that, he slammed his fist into Monkeywrench's stomach, blowing the air out of the scruffy hoodlum's lungs. A left-handed uppercut quickly followed, but much to Skellar's dismay, the Dreadnok didn't fall back.

Monkeywrench's left hand grasped the Lamprey's neck, and slammed his helmeted head into the side of the hydrofoil. As Niles fell to his knees, he could feel his impending doom.

"That was a mighty big mistake you just made, there, mate."

Skellar never agreed, although he did worry about the dent he just made on his perfect Moray before he slipped into unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

**Plans of Attack**

1.

Roadblock couldn't wipe the grin off of his face. He had done a good thing tonight. Cover Girl's birthday dinner was a blast. The girls had all gone off to Lady Jaye's quarters to open presents and gossip, and now the big guy was left to clean up…but that was okay. The gourmet chef knew the ins-and-outs of cooking. He may have reached the "un-fun" stage, but it was still worth it—the thank you kisses from his lady-friends more than paid for it all.

As he picked up the skillet, there was a knock at the door. "Man, they always know the exact time..." Roadblock set down the dirty metal dish, wiped his hands on a rag and walked to the door.

As soon as the big chef pulled the door open, he was jumped on by just about the prettiest G.I. Joe member in service, who slapped a big wet smooch right onto his lips. It didn't take long for the suffocating cook to realize that it was the wine directing the smooching, but it still took a lot of will to push her off.

"Cover Girl! Whatchyou doin' back here?" he managed to gasp out.

Roadblock's little birthday-girl teammate looked up at him with a dopey smile. "I just wanted to thank you, R-B. Nobody has ever made me such a nice dinner before. That means a lot to me."

"Anytime, baby, anytime." The sound of Lady Jaye's voice calling out Cover Girl's name started ringing down the hall. "I think someone is looking for you."

The pretty Joe smiled. "Yup. They all think I went to the bathroom. _Hick._ But I really wanted to come thank you."

"All right, then. You're welcome. Have a good sleep. I think you're gonna need it." The birthday girl started stumbling down the hall.

Turning back she blew a kiss. "Bye, bye, ya big stud!"

Roadblock closed the door and picked the skillet back up. "Man alive, what a night. I can't take any more surprises." _Even though I sure would like to…_

There were three more knocks at the door.

"Uh-oh." The Joe gunner nervously walked towards the door again, checking his breath. "Look, baby, I really don't think we should be kissin' anymore tonight, okay?"

Once the door was pulled open, however, all of the chef's mild anticipation was sucked from his expressions.

Gung-Ho stood in the hallway with his rock-hard face acting as antimatter to any of Roadblock's hopes. He smelled like soap—apparently he'd just taken a shower—but his breath reeked of gumbo. That's all the Cajun would ever eat. The Joe chef tried to cook it for the Louisiana native once, and got it thrown back in his face. Although the two men weren't enemies, Gung-Ho had a chip on his shoulder whenever Roadblock cooked food for other Joes.

Like tonight.

"Smells like chicken in here." Said the Marine with disapproval.

"I was making my special Chicken Cordon Bleu for Cover Girl." Stated the gourmet with pride. "It's her birthday."

Gung-Ho grunted. "I don't eat blue food."

G.I. Joe's heavy gunner didn't even blink. "How can I help you, Gung-Ho?"

"I came to tell you that there's a mission briefing in fifteen minutes. You need to be there."

Roadblock's eyes nearly popped out. "Fifteen minutes? Why didn't you tell me this about two hours ago?"

Gung-Ho lifted his hat and scratched his head. "Cause you were partyin' with them ladies, wastin' yer time. I didn't want to ruin things."

"Man, that's just cold!" The "Kiss the Chef-NOW!" apron flew onto the countertop again as the two big soldiers started their long trek through the halls of the PIT.

2.

_Drip._

Water.

_Drip._

Water…falling.

_Drip._

Water falling…on his hand.

_Drip._

_Must…move…hand_.

"Aarrgh!"

The pain in Skellar's right wrist fired through his body, but as he jerked his hand in reflex, a new pain in his elbow lit up. Before that pain was fully registered, a new pain in his shoulder reported itself. It didn't take long for the awakening Moray pilot to realize that he was dangling by his arms. The pain was unbearable. His entire body screamed in pain, but his arms dominated the calls for help.

Wherever he was, it was dark, wet, and of course, cold. As Skellar slowly moved his upraised arms, he could hear clinking of metal. Chains. He was actually shackled against a wall by chains; and his toes could barely reach the floor. Was this Cobra Island or had he gone back in time a thousand years to medieval Spain?

Before he could think any more, a dim light turned on inside his cell. Skellar's wide-open irises squeezed his eyelids shut and jerked his head to his side. After a few moments, he could finally verify that was hung up in a metallic prison built to hold ten people by chains. At least it wasn't a brick torture cell.

The handle of the door began to creak, and the battered Lamprey squirmed, but soon regretted his mistake; his movement left him with a painful expression when his cowled visitor entered the room. Skellar wanted to say something, but his level of suffering wouldn't allow it.

His visitor's leather boots floated with disturbing silence across the metallic floor. Raising his hands, the intruder pulled off a black glove and reached for his prisoner's chin. As he grabbed it, the hydrofoil pilot groaned in agony, realizing his jaw housed a mild fracture. His cowled torturer's mouth grew into a grin—a grin anyone with knowledge of the Cobra Terrorist Organization would know.

"Z—Zartan."

"Lamprey Eel First Class Niles Skellar. I'm so happy to see you still alive." Zartan's voice rang in Skellar's ears with that trademark echo of his, the aspect that sounded like the Dreadnok leader was speaking through a tin cup. It was obviously done with sound equipment, but no one knew where he carried it. Most likely within the camouflage vest he wore, the one that could amazingly alter his appearance, but would also flash red whenever Zartan's emotions became too enraged. "You're very lucky that I had ordered Monkeywrench not to kill you, even if you fought back. I can never be too trusting of my Dreadnoks, they do have nasty tempers. As do you, I've heard." Zartan patted the Lamprey on the cheek and walked about the prison with his arms outstretched.

"How do you like your cell? I got it set up just for you. The Prison Commander wanted to throw you in with a bunch of other critically wounded prisoners," Zartan raised his finger and spun around, "But I wanted you to have a little peace and comfort." The Dreadnok's grin spread again.

Skellar's mind was running in a hundred directions, but he hurt too much to think clearly. "W—why?"

"Because I need a Moray pilot."

Was Zartan insane? After what Monkeywrench did to him, why in the world would Niles Skellar even consider helping those bastard Dreadnoks? Despite the pain it caused him, Skeller couldn't resist laughing.

Zartan's smile disappeared, and he charged for the pilot and grabbed his ribs, transforming Skellar's laugh into screaming pain. "Listen to me, and listen to me well, Lamprey. You gained a lot of my respect by standing up to my idiot henchman, and it's obvious why you did it: you're passionate about your boat. So, my stubborn fish-man, here are the facts: we are taking your hydrofoil on our mission—with or without you. You can hang here and die, knowing that my stupid henchmen will probably massacre your precious boat much the same way they did to you, or you can come with me, drive the Dreadnoks to victory and save your beautiful Moray, and quite possibly your life."

Skellar would later ponder about whether pain overrode his sense of better judgment, but his arms just couldn't take any more agony. And the thought of his Moray being driven by the Dreadnoks—that was absolutely unbearable.

Making damn sure to not look back at Zartan in the eyes, Niles gave his reply.

"I'm…in."

Zartan's grin grew back. "There's a good fish-boy."

3.

Torpedo was a bit surprised to see Roadblock come into the Mission Briefing with Gung-Ho two minutes late. His normally smiling face carried a frown now, and he smelled like chicken; and was that…perfume?

The Briefing's members were impressive, and the Joe SEAL couldn't stop twiddling his thumbs. He was sitting between the heavy-talker Shipwreck and the panting Roadblock, both Joes with long mission histories. Continuing around the ovular table sat Duke, Cutter and Ace—all three of them were Joe leaders. Their records were phenomenal as well. The table's chairs also supported Gung-ho, Leatherneck and Doc. The latter two Joes had records that weren't too different from Torpedo's, but Gung-Ho was a legend. This was a group of heroes, and most of them knew it. Torpedo was actually thankful to not see Snake-Eyes or Flint. There was already enough perfection in the room.

"Good evening, men." Started Duke as he stood up. "We've got a pretty simple mission on our hands, but one that I can't afford to let slip by." A computer monitor built into the wall behind Duke revealed itself by way of a sliding panel. Once the screen was visible, a map of the Gulf of Mexico lit up, centered around Cobra Island. What sparked Torpedo's interest was the small red dot brightly highlighted between the west coast of Cuba and the Cobra homeland.

As he walked away from his chair, Duke lengthened a short pointing stick. Not surprisingly, he pointed it at the red dot. "Our center of interest is here." The Joes' First Sergeant pressed a button on the map touchscreen. The map zoomed in on the red dot, revealing it to be a small, apple-shaped island. Plant-life dominated the lonely spot of land, but it did have a beach on its northeastern side, a couple of large buildings, a harbor and even a large helipad.

"This is Sammeston Island. It is a personal getaway for Fredrick Sammeston, an oil tycoon from Texas." Duke turned to look at the Joes in the room. "Or rather, it _was_ his personal getaway. This satellite photo is three months old." Another button was clicked. "This is a picture taken this morning."

Roadblock and Shipwreck whistled when the pretty image of Sammeston Island transformed into a blown over wasteland. The buildings were heavily damaged, and the harbor no longer existed. At least a third of the plant life was broken or on the ground. It didn't take long for Torpedo to realize why.

"You're looking at the results of Hurricane Gilford from four days ago. The storm hit this little rock in the water full force. Lucky for us, it dropped to Tropical Storm status before it hit the coast of Alabama."

"What does this have to do with us?" asked Shipwreck at his usual inappropriate time. Duke's response sounded like he was expecting it, though.

"It has a lot to die with us, since Fred Sammeston is one of Cobra's biggest supporters." Duke paused to let that fact sink in. A lot of Joes were shocked, including Torpedo. Why would a rich American citizen want to help power hungry terrorists?

Gung-Ho was the next to speak. "So we're supposed to go help this scum-ball?"

The First Sergeant sat back down. "Yes and no. He left his island two day before the storm hit. But his little resort has been a safe-house for Cobra agents escaping from the United States for years. If it has been severely damaged…"

Shipwreck butted in, "Then Cobra's gonna go nuts wanting to rebuild their little fort!"

"Exactly."

"Well, let's send the fleet in and blockade the place!"

"Sit down, Shipwreck!" barked Cutter. Shipwreck seemed a little angry, but followed his superior's orders.

"That's exactly what we can't do," explained Duke, "I want to send in just a small recon force to examine the island. If Sammeston is there, we can just tell him we were checking up on his condition. But our real purpose is to see if Cobra is in the area, helping the traitorous tycoon rebuild his home."

"What if we do find Cobra?" asked Leatherneck, with a hopeful look in his eye.

"That's where I come in." Ace leaned in. "If Cobra responds, radio for back-up, and I'll coordinate the reinforcements for you."

"Aren't you in a Skystriker, Ace?" asked Shipwreck.

"The FLAGG is unavailable for this mission, so I'm going to work with Deep-Six on the Jane to cover you guys. You won't be helpless.

Duke pointed back to the map. "Deep-Six and Ace will be waiting thirty miles out on the G.I. Jane, ready to bring in any emergency air or water support.

Roadblock asked the question that was on Torpedo's mind as well. "What if this Sammeston guy won't let us come ashore?"

Duke and Cutter looked at Torpedo, flushing the color from the SEAL's face. "That's where you come in, Torpedo." Said Duke. "Before the WHALE reaches the island, you will be launched on the recon sled towards the southern point of Sammeston Island. Once there, your job is to perform a lightning fast search for any sign of Cobra."

"A little data collection and sabotage couldn't hurt, either." Added Cutter.

So this is what it was all about. This is why Cutter found him in the pool and encouraged him to practice his land-fighting skills: a commando mission. Torpedo had done them before joining the G.I. Joe team, but frankly, Snake-Eyes kind of had domination over all of them around here. This was serious stuff.

"Are you okay, Torpedo?" inquired Duke.

"Huh?" The Joe SEAL snapped back into reality. "Oh, yes, yes sir. Completely."

"Because if there is a problem, I can get.--."

"_No_! Uh…I mean, no sir, that won't be necessary."

"Okay, then. And Torpedo. We don't do the 'Sir' thing on the G.I. Joe team."

"Oh, uh.. right. Sorry, sir. Uh, I mean, Duke."

The Joe's First Sergeant shook his head with a smile and began issuing call times. Torpedo looked over to Cutter and saw his old friend wink at him, then turn away.

This was gonna be for more than just pride.

4.

Wild Weasel entered the Conference Room still clenching his fists. It had taken him four hours to clean his Rattler's engines, and another three to find tarps to cover the intakes. Naturally they were muddy, ripped-up tarps that had to be repaired.

Cobra's Ace Pilot never got a chance to clean himself up. The Floor Commander apparently "forgot" to deliver the message about an important meeting until five minutes ago.

It would take three plastic surgeries to fix his nose.

The group of Cobra agents surrounding the Conference Table was unimpressive, if not a bit crude. Zartan sat at the head, with a few of his Dreadnoks spread around the sides. Wild Weasel couldn't remember their names—there was really no need for a Cobra pilot to know these morons. The only other Cobra officer that sat at the table was a pretty beat-up looking hydrofoil pilot. _What were they called?_

"So glad you could join us, Wild Weasel." Snarled Zartan with his usual sarcasm. "If you could please take your seat."

As the Cobra pilot sat down, a few of the Dreadnoks looked at him, started bumping shoulders and giggled like hyenas. Wild Weasel simply smiled behind his helmet's visor. After they saw what he did to their Thunder Machine, they wouldn't be so giddy.

Zartan started tapping on the table. "All right, all right, calm down everybody, we have work to do." After a button was pressed, the giant Cobra flag covering the back wall rolled up and revealed a monitor displaying a map of a small, somewhat fruit-shaped island. "This is Cobra Relay Outpost Seven, about 180-miles east of Cobra Island. For years it has been a safe-house for Cobra agents heading to-and-from the Gulf Coast of the United States."

"Looks like a dump now." Commented the bearded Dreadnok wearing sunglasses.

"Shut-up, Torch!" snapped Zarana from across the table.

Taking a deep breath, the Dreadnok Leader continued, "It is in such sad shape because of the recent hurricane that blew threw the Gulf." Wild Weasel could see where this was going. "It is going to be our job to head out to the relay station and perform repairs on it. First and foremost we need to re-establish the defense systems before the U.S. government decides to set foot on the island."

"Who owns the island?" The question came from behind Wild Weasel, and caused him to jump. He didn't know anyone was there. After turning around he saw…Zandar, Zartan's stealthy brother, hiding in the shadows.

"A U.S. oil tycoon named Fredrick Sammeston. Cobra has convinced the world that he is a traitor. The truth is we have been threatening to kill his entire family unless he granted us use of his little island." Zartan smiled as his henchman giggled.

"So what is our plan of attack?" asked his sister, uh…Zarana.

"Destro wants to keep our presence there pretty low-key, and not attract a lot of attention. An advance air team will survey the island, while a team traveling by sea will arrive shortly thereafter." Zartan braced himself for something. "We are only to take in one Moray and one Rattler."

Outbursts of "What the?" and "No freaking' way!" filled the room. Even Zandar and Zarana were in shock. Cobra's Ace Pilot stood up and started to leave.

Zartan managed to quiet down his minions enough to bellow at Wild Weasel. "Where do you think you're going, Weasel?"

Cobra's Ace Pilot felt the staring needles pierce him as he slowly turned back around. Despite the swarm of brute strength in the room, there was only one man he feared, but respect for that man was not in Wild Weasel's heart.

"This mission is a joke, and I will not be part of it. You expect me to escort this family of freaks to an island that the United States government is aching to get its hands on? It's suicide! Why else do you think Destro is dumping the mission on the Dreadnoks? Because he hates you guys! Everybody knows it!"

Zartan's chest plate started to glow red. "Sit down, pilot."

"I'm going up to Destro and beg for his mercy, rather than be sent to my death with you!"

The Dreadnok leader's torso flashed bright red. "Sit down!"

A hand grabbed Wild Weasel from behind and placed a heavy blade against his neck. _Zandar. Damn that invisible scum-ball._

Zartan smiled. "I suggest you re-think your decision, for if you don't join us on our little quest, you won't even get out of this room alive, much less up to dear Destro to beg for a better job." Now what was he supposed to do? Cobra's Ace Pilot wasn't ready to die yet, at least not until he had a little vengeance against these stupid Dreadnoks. Besides, allegiance with Destro costs money. Oh well.

Wild Weasel shook off Zandar's grip and flopped back down onto the chair. Granted, the Dreadnoks were chuckling at his loss, but the hydrofoil pilot seemed interested in the Cobra Ace Pilot's struggle, and stared silently at him.

Why would he care?


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

**Lock and Load**

1.

Roadblock unhooked the bolts locking the hangar doors. Now free-swinging, the metallic blockades could be bumped open by the cart the big Joe was pushing. More accurately, they would be bonked by the big green crate being carried by the cart.

"Hey, big guy!" The Joe machine gunner cancelled his attempt to push the oversized cart. Without having to turn his head, Roadblock knew Shipwreck was running towards him—the voice was very distinct.

"How can I help you, sailor man?"

Despite his naval seaman history, the G.I. Joe SEAL hated being called a sailor anymore, but ignored the poke this time. "We're shoving off in twenty minutes. You want some help loading this gun of yours?"

Roadblock whipped his burning eyes towards the nuisance. "I'll get my ass-kickin' baby in there on-time as long as I don't get any more distractions. Now don't you do no worryin' about it, okay?" He topped his grilling statement with a super-huge smile.

For all the physical skills Shipwreck had acquired over the years, he was still as rude and naïve as the day he joined the team. Taking a step back, the SEAL raised his hands. "Okay, okay. Chill out. I'm just making sure everyone is ready to go."

After giving a crooked frown, Roadblock gave the cart a hefty push through the doors. Shipwreck was surprised how much the buff Joe's muscles flexed. Maybe that gun really was heavy?

Unfortunately, as soon as the crate smacked the doors, it stopped hard—something was on the other side!

"Dammit! Who did that?" yelled a familiar Cajun voice.

"Uh-oh." Gulped Shipwreck.

Nearly ripping the right door off of its hinges, Gung-Ho stood in the hangar holding his forehead, looking ready to spew fire.

"I'm sorry, Gung-Ho," apologized Roadblock, "I had no idea you were on the other side."

"Ain't ya got ears?" growled the Joe Marine. "Why were ya blastin' through them doors anyhow?"

"Look, I said I'm sorry."

"Fine, now we're even for me not telling ya about the briefin'." Gung-Ho started grumbling curses and stormed off down the hallway, rubbing his forehead.

Before anything could be asked, Roadblock snarled "Shut up, Shipwreck" and slowly pushed his cart into the hangar.

2.

It was something Wild Weasel didn't like to do. It always made him feel weak and desperate, but in this situation he kind of was. He didn't want any support from those moronic Dreadnoks—if he had to, he would fly alone. Still, if any kind of G.I. Joe aircraft attacked him, the only allies he could trust would be his missiles, which wasn't bad, but not if he was being tailed. As much as he hated to admit it, the Joes were good at getting behind him. He needed a helping hand.

Once he reached room FB-13, the Cobra Ace Pilot swallowed his pride just a little bit deeper and knocked on the door. A few moments later, a six-foot tall blond man opened it.

"Yes, sir?" he asked.

"Mission for you."

"I'll be right out, sir."

Twenty minutes later Cobra's top Rattler pilot and Cobra's top Firebat pilot were walking together into that damn decrepit hangar. The sight was a little more approvable this time. Although they were a bit torn-up, tarps were now covering the intakes to Wild Weasel's Rattler. They weren't new, but they were better than nothing.

The icing on the cake was seeing the Dreadnok Thrasher desperately working on his Thunder Machine, trying to figure out what made his truck's engine suddenly explode. Cobra's Ace Pilot's smile engulfed his face. He was truly thankful for that helmet.

He pointed to his jet. "I'm sure it is obvious that this is my Rattler."

"Yes, sir." Replied the Firebat pilot.

"Let's go up and remove those tarps."

Working together, the pilot duo took the tarps off in less than five minutes. As the last intake cover dropped to the floor, Zartan entered the hangar. The Dreadnok leader called up to the pilots. "Wild Weasel! What are you doing with a Firebat pilot?"

The Cobra pilot hadn't anticipated a problem with his choice. He was used to free decisions with any Cobra mission. After all, he was Commander of the Cobra Air Force. Ah, but this was a Dreadnok-controlled debacle. This could get messy.

"I require an experienced pilot to man the turret cannon."

Zartan's chest glowed red. "Why was I not consulted about this?"

Wild Weasel paused and blinked. _This guy really needs to relax_. "It is an Air Force priority. Those matters are mine to decide!"

The Dreadnok's torso flashed bright red. "Get down here! Both of you!"

As the two pilots climbed down their ladders, Cobra's Ace Pilot started mentally practicing his verbal defense against Zartan. Once they had reached him, however, the flashing red Dreadnok grabbed them by their throats and slammed them against the hangar wall. Wild Weasel could see Thrasher watching the action with a smile on his face that resembled the one the pilot enjoyed when he entered the hanger.

"You never have 'matters to decide' on missions that are under my control." With that, Zartan let go of the Firebat pilot, pulled out a pistol and shot the blond man in the lower torso. Wild Weasel watched in shock as his favorite apprentice slid down the wall and hunched over on the floor.

Zartan's eyes turned back to his now-motionless prisoner. "Don't worry, I didn't shoot anything important, but I can guarantee that he won't be helping you anytime soon. Now, if you need a gunner, then my sister Zarana will be manning your turret, and if you don't like that, I'll simply shoot you and stick Zandar in your Rattler's cockpit. He's been itching to try one of them for a long time. How does all of that sound?"

Wild Weasel wanted to cuss so bad that it hurt. Once again, he was getting screwed over by the Dreadnoks. But he couldn't lose his plane to them, especially to the family of this bastard Zartan.

"F—Fine…You win."

"I always win." Sneered the Dreadnok leader. Wild Weasel didn't believe that for a second.

3.

The walk up the on-ramp was a steep one, and Torpedo often required a little help with all his gear. But this time, he wasn't carrying a couple heavy scuba tanks and bags of weapons. Now it was just a small supply of recon equipment and light weapons. He couldn't carry very much; he had to travel at least ten miles across the ocean on the recon sled. It was ironic that he had been focusing on more land-battle training; the time spent in the pool was what won him the mission.

As the Joe SEAL placed his equipment underneath the hatch onto the recon sled, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

"Yeah?" No response.

"Yeah, what?" he asked again, louder.

"What do you want?" he growled as he turned around. As he saw Snake-Eyes standing behind him, his cheeks burned blood red. "Oh, man, Snake-Eyes, I'm sorry, man. I'm just under a lot of stress, you know—."

G.I. Joe's top commando raised his hand to calm Torpedo down. He was probably used to occurrences involving frustration towards his inability to speak Snake-Eyes' other hand offered Torpedo a very impressive-looking multi-edged knife. Not too big, but obviously very sharp and full of features.

"You, you're giving me a new knife?" The Joe SEAL was in awe. Snake-Eyes nodded. Torpedo humbly accepted it, and quickly took his current knife from its lower-leg sheath. He was almost embarrassed by its simplicity. It was a good knife, but this gift was a great knife! Amazingly, the commando-knife blade fit perfectly into Torpedo's leg sheath. How did Snake-Eyes know?

Looking up to thank him, Torpedo only caught a glimpse of the Joe ninja's head disappearing down the WHALE's on-ramp. The SEAL smiled and swore to thank him later.

Other members of the Joe team began filing into the hovercraft's hold, making it a very tight fit. When the ramp swung up and closed, it got worse.

Cutter's voice called down over the intercom, "Okay, Joes, we're heading off for the transport. It's gonna be a tight squeeze until we get on board. Enjoy the sweat!"

With that, the Waterborne Hover Assault Landing: Experimental's massive fans kicked into gear, lifting the hovercraft off of the ground. Torpedo could barely hear the hangar doors open over all the noise, but he could feel the soft movement as the Joe's big floating tank drifted out across the concrete.

Resting on the end of a runway, with its own turbofan engines spinning, sat a massive C-130 cargo plane. The WHALE floated up a special 30-yard long low-angle on-ramp that led into the back of the plane. Once the hovercraft had had made its way inside, it turned off its fans and was latched down. The on-ramp was pulled free and the C-130's hatch was shut. The massive flying fortress began a thunderous charge down the runway, gaining power and speed until it surrendered to the sky, tilting back and magically lifting itself into the air.

Next stop: the Gulf of Mexico.

4.

Skellar hooked the last ammo belt into the port rear .30-caliber machine gun. These guns always felt a bit pointless to him, since he never drove slow enough for them to ever be aimed accurately, but he supposed that if the need ever arose, it would be nice to have them.

Now, the big 55mm side cannons; he kept those babies spotless because with Niles Skellar at the controls, they never stopped firing. All missile launchers received frequent check-ups as well. He had his priorities straight.

Unfortunately, fate always brought new challenges.

Four Dreadnoks came stomping down the docks carrying massive amounts of weapons and supplies. They began throwing the bags and boxes on board the Moray, and even before Skellar could open his mouth, they had filled every inch of space on the boat.

"Hey! What do you think you are doing?" panicked the Cobra Lamprey.

"We've got stuff we gotta bring." Said the blond one with the pony tail.

"You said it, Buzzer." Said the short-haired one carrying a bayonet. "But this boat ain't got enough room! Where we gonna put it all?"

"I know, Ripper!" said the shaggy one with a blowtorch. "Let's make some more room!"

Cheering their agreement with Torch, the Dreadnoks powered up their weapons, but Skellar pulled out his spear rifle. "Don't you even touch my Moray, you pigs!"

Monkeywrench freaked out the most. "Blimey! You hear that? He called us pigs!"

"That's it, then, his boat is scrap!" screamed Buzzer as he revved up his chainsaw.

"Stop it, you fools!" ordered a voice from farther up the docks. The Dreadnoks quickly obeyed it, obviously having heard those words plenty of times. Looking up the dock, Skellar saw a skinny, pink-haired woman standing at the base of the dock, carrying an enormous assault rifle and a small bag.

"But, but Zarana," cried Ripper, "He called us pigs!"

"You _are_ pigs!" The skinny, scruffy, yet fairly attractive woman's eyes turned to the Moray pilot, and she aimed her rifle his direction. "But this boat-boy better have a damn-good reason for insultin' me boys!"

Niles was actually a bit nervous. Zarana was Zartan's sister, and if he angered her, his life was on the line—she wasn't as stupid as these other doofuses.

"Miss Zarana, let me explain: these idiots are over-stocking ma hydrofoil. To make matters worse, they were about ta chop up ma craft to make more room!" Skellar could feel the sweat slide down his forehead.

Zartan's sister frowned and turned around. "You pigs! This isn't a cargo ship! You can only take a few rations and a couple of weapons. That's all it has room for. Get rid of this stuff, now!" With that, Zarana tossed the Lamprey her gear and stormed off towards the hangar. The Dreadnoks began unloading the Moray, amidst a massive amount of cursing and glaring at Skellar.

When the unload and light reload was finished, Monkeywrench grabbed Niles' arm before he could reach the pilot's seat. "Don't think you beat us today, mate, 'cause when this mission is over, we're gonna rip this hunk-a-junk to pieces, I promise ya that." The Dreadnok patted the Lamprey's shoulder and climbed out of the boat. "G'day."

As Zartan's henchman giggled their way down the dock, Skellar could only think about one thing: Could pigs swim?


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

**First Sights**

1.

Everyone knew that speed was the highest priority. Spy satellites reported that an aircraft and watercraft had just departed from Cobra Island, heading towards Sammeston Island. What made Roadblock nervous was the fact that WHALE would have to skip its hook-up with the freighter G.I. Jane and get into the water _creatively._

Cutter saw an opportunity to attempt something he had been urging to try for years: back the WHALE out of the C-130 while the flying monster took a low swoop above the water's surface, and drop the hovercraft into the sea.

It was a dangerous maneuver. Like the Joe's master chef, the amphibious craft was big and heavy. It couldn't have its propellers running during the drop, lest they get ripped off by the reverse air flow. But if timed right, the WHALE could skip across a few waves, kick on its fans and then lift up. It would be a rough ride for the guys inside, but there wasn't much choice. Cobra had a lead on them to the island, and the good guys couldn't afford to let it get any worse; it had to happen.

Roadblock knew that Cutter wouldn't trust many pilots to glide a C-130 above the waves, but Wild Bill was definitely at the top of that list. The Joe cowboy was better known for his helicopter skills, but he was just as good with a cargo plane, every Joe knew that.

Few Joes on the WHALE could see the C-130's rear ramp lay itself down, but they could all hear it. Roadblock stood in the starboard 1.75" twin anti-aircraft turret, and pushed himself up and over the side just enough to get a look out the back. Seeing waves of water shooting into the distance under the tail of the plane was mind-boggling.

"I'm not liking' this idea of droppin' boats. Let's think of another plan, and takin' votes!"

"Back inside, Roadblock!" ordered Cutter. He sounded nervous, too, but focused. "Get ready for the drop everybody. It's gonna be bumpy, so stay away from anything sharp."

A few calls of "Yes, sir!" and Aye, aye!" came back up to him.

"Wild Bill!" called the Coast Guard Officer, "Bring us to drop altitude!"

"Whooeee! You got it, Cutter! Thirty seconds!" responded the distinct Texan accent over the loudspeaker.

Drops of sweat began forming on Roadblock's brow. For this maneuver, he had to crouch underneath the rim of the turret, which had extra padding wrapped around its ring, but still seemed like the most dangerous place to be. Looking over, the big Joe could see Gung-Ho squished under the port turret, wiping sweat from beneath his hat. _Good. At least I'm not the only guy freakin' out_.

"Good luck, boys! Time to place yer bets!" called Wild Bill as the green lights flipped on.

Cutter unlocked the WHALE's propellers and steering vanes so that they would be in free-spin, and then unlocked the clamps along the sides of the hovercraft. The vehicle began to slide backwards down the ramp, gently scraping the plane's clean surface before it was weaned clear of the C-130.

The drop to the water only lasted a moment, but the armored craft splashed hard against the waves. As the free-spinning fans gave the illusion of powered motion, the hovercraft skipped across the wave-tops until the weight of the hovercraft's aft side began to tilt the bow upwards. As the chaotic slamming began to settle, Cutter stood up and flipped on the engine power, reversing the spin-direction of the groaning propellers, quickly lifting the craft up from the sea-surface, and providing control to its forward thrust.

The hard change of speed nearly threw Roadblock's on top of Leatherneck. If he hadn't been such a big, powerful thug, he wouldn't have been able to stop himself, although he did strain his back in the process. There was a lot of painful groaning inside the hold from the well-shaken passengers.

Despite the problems with speed changes and bouncing, Roadblock admitted that the maneuver worked. With some fine tuning, it could be used again in the future. The WHALE's recon bike and depth charges were tied down strong enough that they held their positions and were undamaged. Cutter took a few bumps as well, but all the hovercraft's systems still worked, and he determined that the pain was worth it.

"Wow! What a ride!" he cheered with pride, "That's one for the books! Everybody okay down there?" he asked over the flying-bridge command post.

"Despite the inch of vomit I'm standing in, it's just dandy in here!" sneered back Shipwreck.

"How are you guys doing?" Cutter asked Roadblock and Gung-Ho, who were now both standing in their turrets, and holding their lower backs.

"I don't think it's a good idea to have guys near the turrets when you do that maneuver." Groaned Roadblock.

"Noted. Sorry guys. I owe you both a beer." The fans sputtered with even greater life as the armored watercraft turned another twenty degrees southwest and the G.I. Joe Recon/Assault team roared off towards their goal.

2.

"What a dump!" At least Zarana didn't hide her feelings.

"This place suffered a hurricane, you know." Reminded Wild Weasel. Zartan's sister whipped around and glared at him with her haunting eyes.

"You just shut up and repair those fuel pumps. I'm well aware of what this pit has gone through!" With that, the skinny vixen marched off towards the shattered mansion, leaving Cobra's Ace Pilot to figure out how to refuel his Rattler with broken fuel pumps. He knew there would be trouble when he saw the condition of the helipad, and warned the Dreadnok Princess against landing—he had just enough fuel to make it back to Cobra Island—but not if they landed.

Of course she didn't listen—she was a Dreadnok.

_Damn._ There was nothing he could do with the tools he had. The pump motors were busted, and needed repair. Nothing to replace, but it would take some time to fix them. Looking around, Wild Weasel saw a sign of hope. On the northern edge of the landing pad was a concrete bunker, with a metal panel lying on the ground in front of it. The Ace Pilot walked over to the bunker, picked up the piece of tin and flipped it over. It read "Tool Shed."

_Bingo_.

After shooting the door lock off of the handle, Wild Weasel kicked the door in. Due to the lack of electric power, Weasel used his flashlight to look around. The bunker was a dream-come-true. It was more than just storage for tools—it also held replacement parts for the pumps. This was actually going to be easy.

Almost.

Thirty-five minutes later, Zarana walked down to the landing pad covered in jewelry with her pockets bulging and her mouth smothered in chocolate. "You get this bucket of yours fueled back up yet?"

Wild Weasel was tempted to ask her to check beneath the jet exhausts for him. "I'm working on the pumps right now."

"Well hurry up.. I told Zartan you wrecked 'em and he sounded pretty mad, but maybe he'll forgive you if you fix 'em." She started eating another piece of chocolate. Cobra's Ace Pilot started to panic but then he grew angry. "Anyways, he's almost here in the boat, so pick up the pace, will ya?" She then glared at him. "And stay out of the mansion! Everything in there belongs to the Dreadnoks, got it?"

Wild Weasel noticed a necklace slip off of Zarana's elbow and hit the ground. Surprisingly, she didn't notice. Probably because she was too busy chewing her cocoa-flavored cud.

"Got it."

"Good." Zartan's sister turned around and headed off towards the dock. "You stay here and gas up the plane. I'll wait for the hydrofoil."

"You do that." Whispered the enraged pilot. As soon as Zarana had disappeared from view, Wild Weasel picked up the gold and diamond necklace, and stuffed it into his flight suit's chest pocket.

3.

He wasn't cramped, but Torpedo had been laying on his stomach for over an hour, and he couldn't take it much longer. Nerve butterflies and anxiety were scaring away any possibility of sleep. He probably suffered the least of the Joes in the WHALE drop. His position in the recon sled launch tube was a tight fit, so he bounced around the least.

But his mind wouldn't stop bouncing.

How he wished he could reach down and unsheathe the knife that Snake-Eyes had given him, but there just wasn't enough room here in the tube.

Why had Snake-Eyes given him that knife? Was it a sign of friendship? Was the most mysterious of all teammates saying that they were buddies now? _Nah. That couldn't be_. Snake-Eyes only had two close friends: Scarlett and his wolf Timber. Well, he kind of hung out with Stalker sometimes. And occasionally General Hawk. But that was about it. There was no doubt if Storm Shadow got the chip off of his shoulder about, well, whatever it was that bothered him, Snake-Eyes would be a brother to him. But not Torpedo. Snake Eyes had only nodded at the Joe SEAL maybe twice in his whole life. It couldn't be a close friendship thing.

What about pity? Was G.I. Joe's super-commando saying "Good god, dude, you need all the help you can get, 'cause I don't think you can do it." Torpedo's knife was just general issue, so maybe Snake-Eyes saw a weapon's upgrade was all he had time to provide the SEAL? No…no. The Arashikage ninja had more honor and respect for his fellow Joes than that. If he had so little respect for Torpedo's ability he would have reported something to Duke or Hawk. Or even Cutter. Maybe it was pity for the quality of the knife, but not for Torpedo's abilities. Everyone knew Torpedo was the best swimmer on the team, and had done some light-scale commando work before. Snake-Eyes would know that.

Most likely it was a reward. Torpedo was finally assigned his first solo commando-style mission for the Joes, and as a sign of his support and approval, Snake-Eyes gave his friend a reward. The master commando rewarded the new commando a kind of "Way-To-Go!" style reward that he could use on the mission, not just look at on a shelf. Who wants a trophy, when you could slash your enemies with your reward? It was also a source of inspiration, and Torpedo would be damn sure to make his friend proud.

A red light turned on inside the recon sled launcher, waking Torpedo up from his train of thought. Cutter's voice called through an intercom.

"We're approaching the ten-mile mark! Get ready to launch!"

Transforming his mind into that of a Navy SEAL machine, Torpedo pulled down his goggles, grabbed the sled's controls and stared forward. The launch tube hatch swung open and heavy waves of sea water splashed into the shaft, back-dropped by an orange and blue sunset. Cutter's voice rang out the intercom again. "We're giving you your head-start. Good luck out there Torpedo!" With that, the green light lit up and the firing mechanism sprung, punching the recon sled out of the tube and skipping it across the waves.

Torpedo's body crouched up as the sled raced over the heavy ocean waters. Originally designed for coastal waters, the open waves of the Gulf of Mexico were a rough ride for the little boat. Also, the firing mechanism had its power tripled so the SEAL wouldn't have to swim quite so far. It made the launch a lot harder on the Joe's arms. After only a mile, the sled began to sway off, and so Torpedo dropped off the back and began pushing it, waving his legs with powerful determination, moving towards the little island resting on the horizon.

4.

Smooth jumping across the ocean waves was about the closest thing to peacefulness that Skellar could feel on his journey to the island. If those stupid Dreadnoks weren't laughing their heads off at vulgar jokes, they were wasting ammunition shooting at fish. Every time the Moray pilot complained to Zartan, he was told to remember his place.

Cobra Outpost Seven was growing larger in the distance, and Skellar relished the idea of being rid of these monkeys soon. Surprisingly, the guffawing idiots had been quiet for the last ten minutes. Apparently, they were enjoying their rations of grape soda and chocolate donuts. _Gad_.

As he checked his position on the GPS, the harassed Lamprey saw purple liquid trickle down his helmet's visor. "What the hell?" Jackal-like laughter began roaring from behind him. Skellar spun around to see Monkeywrench standing beneath the main turret, holding a dripping can of grape soda over Skellar's head.

"Blimey, mate! Looks like you've gone an' messed up yer nice uniform. What'll the Commander think?"

Skellar killed power and jumped out of his seat. As he prepared to swing a punch at his nemesis, he was yanked from behind and thrown back into the pilot's position. Zartan's chest was flickering red.

"Sir down and do your job, Lamprey." Growled the Dreadnok master.

"You tell 'em, Zartan." Cheered Monkeywrench. The cowled leader then smashed his minion's face with a swift punch.

"And you, you stupid twit, get up into the turret and leave the pilot alone."

"Ya broke me nose!" cried Monkeywrench.

Zartan's chest flashed red again, "Then get up into the turret before I break your neck!" The other Dreadnoks cringed with fear as their bloody teammate crawled up into the turret and their leader gave them a warning glare. Skellar started the hydrofoil back up and prayed that he would not be reprimanded as well.

There was no hope of that.

Zartan placed his head close to the Lamprey's ear, so that he could be quiet, but direct. "I respect your bravery, but don't ever do that again. Your life is on the line as of right now. If you ever do anything to anger me or my men again, you die."

"But Zartan, he--."

"Shh! I know what he did, and that's why his nose is going to have a kink to the right for the rest of his life." The sinister Dreadnok leader grabbed the pilot by the neck. "Attempt to apply your own justice ever again, and you are shark food, understand?"

Niles Skellar began to feel like a mouse, lost in a cage, searching for that one piece of cheese, except that the only piece of happiness he could find was full of rat poison. He had never been so angry and scared at the same time. Nevertheless, he was a stubborn man, and he wouldn't stop pondering ways to send this group of "_Mad Max_" stunt men to hell.

"Yes, Zartan, sir. I understand perfectly."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

**Impatience**

1.

There it was again. His radar couldn't pick anything up, and his binoculars just weren't strong enough to swear by, but dang it, something was floating on the horizon, he was sure of it. He didn't get to be a great pilot by having weak eyesight.

Wild Weasel jumped down from the side of the helipad and onto a pile of gravel. The loose rocks nearly broke his ankle, but he didn't have time to worry about that right now. He ran off towards the docks, praying that Zarana had enough intelligence in her to let him take off in his Rattler and check out whatever it was that had been sitting out on the horizon for the last hour staring back at him.

The Dreadnok Princess could have been clearing debris that was scattered across the docks, but instead she was sitting on a folding lawn chair she had dug up and admiring her new-found wealth. The Hydrofoil could be seen spraying up from the south, closing in on the island and only a couple of minutes away.

Zarana was startled by Wild Weasel's heavy footsteps across the concrete dock. "What are you doing down here, stupid? I told you to stay up with the plane!"

Cobra's Ace Pilot was too anxious to worry about her insults. Not wanting to miss a combat opportunity, he decided to use his best etiquette. "Miss Zarana. I think I see a ship on the eastern horizon I ask for your permission to take the Rattler and go investigate it."

"Are you nuts? Zartan's almost here! Besides, I thought you didn't have enough fuel."

_Nobody can be this stupid._ "I've refueled the Rattler as you asked, Zarana, and there is plenty more in the island reserve. It'll be a quick flight, I promise."

Zarana fluttered her hand at him. "No, forget it. Shoo. Back up to your plane. Zartan's almost here. These matters are for him to deal with, not you. I'll make sure he hears how rude you've been to me."

Wild Weasel strained to withhold a curse, then turned around and walked back up to the helipad. _To hell with her, _he thought to himself, _this is my kill._

As Cobra's Ace Pilot distanced himself from the Dreadnok Princess, he missed the sly grin that spread across her face.

2.

This swim had been a doozy, but not one for the record books. Torpedo had been kicking for over twenty miles, which really was nothing to brag about, but he was pushing a recon sled full of gear, which made it a little more respectable. Add to that the fact that although it was a nice, clear night in the gulf, it was pretty windy, and the waves were rather high.

There were only a couple of visible lights on Sammeston Island. There was some movement on what was obviously a landing pad, and a small stationary light sitting on a large dock. Another point of interest was a water-craft racing towards the dock. The Joe SEAL couldn't recognize the craft from five miles away, but he could recognize its movements--and it moved like a Hydrofoil. That would be bad news for the guys on the WHALE. There were very few battles between Morays and WHALEs in the Joe vs. Cobra history, so there was really no clear choice on which one was more powerful.

But that wasn't Torpedo's concern; getting onto that island, doing a lot of recon and probably a bit of sabotage was. Looking over the port side of the sled with his night-vision goggles, he could just make out a dense chunk of jungle-like shoreline on the south-eastern side that would make an ideal insertion point for him. What made the landing point ideal was the bank of land spearing out into the water, blocking any view of his approach to the dock and landing platform up on the north-eastern side of the island. This was going to be easy.

_Right_.

As he rode the waves behind the jagged spear of land, G.I. Joe's top SEAL was both excited and disturbed by watching the Moray pull up to the dock. Confirmation of the vehicle was a little exciting, but seeing Zartan jump off the side made things a little nerve-wracking. The Dreadnoks were morons, but Zartan was sharp, and if he caught you, his thugs would tear you to pieces.

The good news was it was more than obvious that no one saw him glide up to the island.

Torpedo pushed the recon sled up the short beach to the edge of the jungle. Using lightning speed, he tossed his gear to the ground and began shoveling sand. The recon sled had to be buried, and it took a lot of sand to do it. The SEAL started to wish that the sled was a deflatable raft, but he knew that if it was, it wouldn't have got him here as fast. Perhaps.

After a lot of difficult burial, eventually using sand from the ocean and some rocks, Torpedo geared up. Naturally, he had Snake-Eyes' knife, some night-vision goggles, a pack of C-4, detonators, a radio, a digital camera, a mini-computer and an Uzi. The only thing that felt awkward was the mini-computer, but really it was about one-fourth the size of a laptop, and in this day-an-age, if you're going to steal information, you don't steal papers or take pictures. But he could do that too, if need be. His wristwatch carried a homing signal and a GPS if he needed them. Was he in the military or a spy thriller?

Now that he was set up, it was time to move.

3.

Land never looked so beautiful to Skellar before. It was finally a chance to get these uncivilized behemoths out of his precious Moray and give him a little bit of peace and quiet. Or so he had hoped. The Dreadnoks were scum, but at least they weren't very frightening. Zartan on the other hand…

"Enjoying the look of land, Lamprey?" asked Zartan.

"Immensely." Replied Skellar.

"Still got it in you, eh? Heh. I'm just aching to see you in a battle." With that, the Dreadnok leader got out of his seat and walked to the aft of the Hydrofoil. "All right, you nimrods. Now that we're at the dock, get out and tie the Moray down. "

Torch raised his hand. "Uh, Zartan? What's a Moray?"

Zartan's chesh glowed red. "It's the Hydrofoil, you fool!"

Ripper turned to Buzzer. "I though it was one o' them wingy fish things."

Their leader's chest crackled with energy. "Shut up and start securing the boat! Monkeywrench get down here!"

"Yes, sir, Zartan, sir!"

As the Moray bonked against the dock from the Dreadnok idiocy, Skellar scrambled to flip pads over the edge of the Hydrofoil. Eventually, the huge assault watercraft drifted perfectly at the dock and the Dreadnoks began throwing out their gear, then sat on the edge of the craft eating chocolate donuts and grape soda. Skellar was seconds away from shoving the slobbering fools into the water.

Suddenly, everyone was caught off guard when a blasting, thunderous roar screamed down from the helipad. Buzzer and Ripper were so shocked that they fell off the side of the Hydrofoil and into the water. Zarana collapsed backwards onto her folding chair and broke it. Zartan's chest fired with so much energy it seemed that his hologram suit would explode.

Looking up from the Moray, Skellar could see Wild Weasel's Rattler lift off from the helipad, rotate its wings forward and blast off across the Gulf waters.

"What the hell is going on?" screamed Zartan.

"It's Wild Weasel!" answered Zarana, "He wanted to check out something suspicious on the horizon, but I told him not to go! "

Zartan growled and gritted his teeth. "That traitorous bastard! Everyone, back into the Moray! We're going to bring him back!"

Nervously, Skellar had to emphasize a point. "Um…Zartan, sir. We really shouldn't."

The Dreadnok leader whipped him a fiery glare. "I don't have time for your crap, Lamprey!"

"But, sir, the Hydrofoil is out of fuel!"

Zartan screamed a roar of anger and began throwing debris off of the dock. He pointed a finger at Skellar. "Fill it up, now!"

"Yes, yes, sir!"

Then Zartan pointed at Monkeywrench and Torch. "Rescue the other Dreadnoks before they drown!"

"But Zartan," whimpered Ripper, "We don't know how to swim either."

"Then learn!" he barked.

Everybody was in chaos, except for Zarana, who seemed to be enjoying what was going on. _Had she expected this to happen?_

As the Moray pilot worked to refuel the Hydrofoil, he noticed that the starboard cargo door was cocked open. No one had stored anything in there for the trip over, so why was it open now? What had been in there?

_Or who?_

4.

Roadblock looked down, wiping the sweat from his hot brow. He had him. Gung-Ho wasn't getting away this time. That sly Marine had weaseled his way out of plenty of duels, but this time G.I. Joe's master chef was gonna slap the bad gumbo on that cranky Joe's face, no doubt about it.

Slamming down his five wet, wrinkled cards, the big machine gunner called out "Full house, Cajun boy, kings and sevens!" Roadblock rubbed his palms and grinned like a Cheshire cat.

The Joe's bare-breasted Marine simply lifted the brow of his cap, shook his head and gently laid down his hand. "Sorry, chef. Four Jacks. You buy the beer."

"Roadblock's rock-solid jaw just about hit the hull of the WHALE. "How the heck do you always do that?"

"Voodoo magic." commented Shipwreck as he picked up the cards and began re-shuffling. The big gunner was beginning to believe it. Gung-Ho shot the SEAL a mean glare.

"You buying the booze again, Roadblock?" asked Doc from the bridge. He had been talking with Cutter for the last couple of hours while the team drifted out at sea.

"Yeah, but if you guys keep making' me waste my pay on drinks you'll never get feasts for you birthdays!"

"Maybe some of us would rather have beer." Snarled Gung-Ho.

"Ow! Through the heart, my man." The gourmet chef was pondering a response, but didn't get a chance to deliver it.

Cutter's commands were so intense everyone jumped up. "Battle positions! Shipwreck, get back here and untie the depth charges! Leatherneck, use a 'scope and confirm what just took off from Sammeston Island!"

Every head on board turned towards the island, but Joe discipline reminded the soldiers not to keep the look for long. Doc crawled across the hull and then below decks as Shipwreck crawled aft and began unhooking chains. Leatherneck jumped out from below deck with a rather powerful-looking set of binoculars which he immediately whipped up to his eyes. Roadblock and Gung-Ho swerved the turrets into forward positions and unlocked their clamps, allowing the twin cannons to freely swing up and down. Cutter unlocked the 105mm main cannons and quad-tube missile-launchers .

Leatherneck gave his report in a thundering voice. "It's a Rattler! Roughly sixty feet off of the surface. I'd guess 150mph. Straight at us!"

"Cocky bastard." Growled Shipwreck. "Nice and slow with no attempts at protecting himself."

"Must be Wild Weasel." Reasoned Cutter.

"No bet."

"Thanks, Leatherneck. Get below deck. I need you and Doc watching the cannon loading systems."

"But I'd be better up here with a gun!" complained the Marine.

"Not against a Rattler you wouldn't. Get down there!"

"Yes, sir." Grumbling complaints, Leatherneck dropped down and closed the hatch.

Cutter powered up the fans and turned the hovercraft straight towards the approaching bomber.

Hairs across Roadblock's back began to scrape against his uniform; he was about to face a tankbuster head-on. There wasn't much choice, though. A WHALE had three-times as much weaponry facing forward as it did to the sides, and absolutely nothing to the stern. But it had nothing that could compare to the array of death hanging from a Rattler's wings, or a Rattler's 30mm cannon—like the one that just started sparkling white.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

**WHALE Hunt**

1.

_Damn._ He should have been flying at a higher speed before he started shooting. Barely able to keep his Rattler from stalling, Wild Weasel had to punch the thrusters and blast over the Joe hovercraft in order to avoid taking hits from their weapons. He wouldn't make that mistake again.

Cobra's Ace Pilot pulled up and swerved right, enjoying the Rattler's tight turning radius. Able to turn just as fast if not a bit faster than the WHALE, Wild Weasel was ready to strike the poor defenses of the craft's sides.

The Rattler is based on the design of an A-10 Warthog, or "Tankbuster." M.A.R.S. engineers gave it a revolutionary yet highly unstable VTOL ability, as well as a twin-turret cannon reminiscent of a World War II bomber, both features that reduced its speed. However, by adding a third jet intake, the Rattler was given extra engine power, allowing it to perform just as well as any A-10 in existence. And like a Warthog, it is a flying tank destroyer, capable of vaporizing most battlefield weapons and vehicles. Sea craft were no different.

Wild Weasel's thumb danced around the control stick, waiting for the orange HUD cross-hairs to stop wiggling on the WHALE and turn red, signaling a lock-on. The Rattler pilot began to sweat, but it wasn't out of fear—anticipation was just as powerful.

Red.

"Game over, you Joe bastards."

Before Wild Weasel could complete the act of pressing the firing trigger, the water in front of the WHALE erupted, blocking any view of the hovercraft. _"What the hell?"_ screamed the Cobra pilot.

A G.I. Joe SHARC blasted out from beneath the ocean surface, and made a run straight for the Rattler. As the little white submersible aircraft gained altitude, it opened its 30mm twin-wing cannons. Wild Weasel attempted to maneuver away, but the Joe vehicle began a barrage of fire, ripping shreds from the fuselage of the Cobra tankbuster.

"Damn you G.I. Joe!" cursed Cobra's Ace Pilot as he punched his thrusters and flew his flaming jet back towards Cobra Outpost Seven. He jumped as a metallic voice raged over the radio. "Wild Weasel, you fool! How dare you steal the Rattler to hunt Joes, and then lose! Get back to this island now, or I'll get come out there and strangle you myself!"

Cobra's Ace Pilot almost ripped his Rattler's joystick out. "Zartan, I had them, but they ambushed me with reinforcements!"

"Just shut up and bring back that plane before you crash it. I'll take care of everything with the hydrofoil."

Wild Weasel turned his radio off and screamed out loud. After re-catching his breath, he saw that the SHARC had landed in the water next to the Joe hovercraft. He couldn't risk another attack. His prize Rattler's starboard wing was barely able to keep itself attached. On the plus side, even in a damaged state, there was no way that the SHARC could catch him. _Bah._

He half-heartedly flew back to the island. Zartan was getting too far under his fingernails. He needed to find an ally. Quickly.

2.

Seeing the Rattler take off and head out for the WHALE was a bit nerve-wracking. Seeing it attack the hovercraft was absolutely blowing Torpedo's mind. But what could he do? Shoot his Uzi at it? No. All he should do was complete his mission. That should be the only thing on his mind right now.

_Huh?_ Torpedo had put down his binoculars for just a second, but in that time he had missed something, something big. Whatever just happened had turned the Cobra jet fighter into a smoking heap, flying back this way. Something else was flying around the WHALE, but what was it? It was just too small to make out. _Maybe a helicopter?_

Torpedo had to shake it off and turn around. It seemed his friends were safe for now. Someone had saved them. _Go figure. _

_Back to business_.

The Rattler's launch may have bothered him, but it did give him a starting point for his recon. He now knew where the helipad was, and that was definitely a place he needed to check out.

As the Joe SEAL slithered through the tropical trees and brush, he smiled. Snake-Eyes' knife proved very effective at clearing the brush and sawing away small branches. Torpedo was anxious to attempt some battle action with it, as well.

Sunrise was beginning to bring a little glow to the eastern skyline, but as the SEAL crept behind a small bunker on the outskirts of the pad, he could see new movement skipping across the ocean, shooting like an arrow out for the WHALE.

Any Joe with a wetsuit knew what that meant.

Again, Torpedo knew that he had to stay focused on his what he was sent here to do. It was obvious that the fuel pumps on the landing pad had recently been repaired, and therefore tools were in ample supply. Using the tools to open the closest pump, he dug out a pack of C-4, and prepared a surprise for the bastard coming back in the smoky Rattler.

Once he had finished, he heard voices approaching the pad. There was a lot of annoyingly high-pitched laughter and use of swear-words.

Dreadnoks.

Torpedo ran to the opposite edge of the helipad and jumped down. Although his common sense told him to run for his life, he was here for information, and knew that he had to stay. He was more annoyed than happy that he could recognize the Dreadnoks by their voices.

"I'm jus' saying' it stinks." That was obviously Monkeywrench. "Everyone else gets ta go out an' shoot up Joes an' all we get ta do is beat up Wild Weasel. We can't even kill 'im!"

"Well," said Buzzer, "Maybe we can't finish 'im off, but Zartan didn't say we couldn't do nuthin' to his plane!" the Dreadnok revved up his chainsaw.

Monkeywrench's tone changed significantly. "Yeah! We can total 'is plane! Ha! Ha! Ha! Uh…jus' one fave, eh Buzzer?"

"Whas' that?"

"Don' let 'im hit me nose."

Buzzer started laughing like a mutant hyena and Torpedo figured he'd heard enough. Apparently Wild Weasel's little escapade was against the rules—rules that this Dreadnok-run operation had set. Very interesting.

The disturbing factor was that Zartan and some other Dreadnoks were heading out to engage the WHALE. The hovercraft had obviously been targeted by the Rattler, which failed, and now a Moray was going to take a pick at it.

_Good luck, Cutter._

3.

Hopping across the ocean waves, Lamprey First Class Niles Skellar's Moray rocketed towards the floating gunship bobbing out on the horizon. Skellar's fists clenched as he thought about the passionate battle that Wild Weasel had thrown away. It was every Lamprey's dream to engage a WHALE in all-out combat. It seemed like it would be even easier in a Rattler. How could that moron have botched it up in a tankbuster? Still, he couldn't let negative emotions towards Cobra's Ace Pilot build up. He had enough enemies to deal with out here already.

"I said drop the skiffs!" barked Zartan.

"What?" So lost in thought, Niles missed the command the first time.

"Got to hydrofoil mode, you idiot, now!"

"Uh…aye, sir!" replied the Lamprey, pushed into obedience by guilt over missing the first order.

The skiffs slowly swung down, and as they did, the boat rose out of the water, giving the Moray the appearance of a skate scraping the surface of the sea. As the rocket-engined-boat sliced across the water, the G.I. Joe hovercraft grew deliciously larger and larger, until the miniscule movements of the Joe team members on-board transformed into trackable targets.

_Was there something next to the WHALE? And did it just go under water?_

Flashes of red emanated from the 105mm main guns of the WHALE, followed quickly buy claps of thunder. Huge splashes thrust up out of the water all around the Moray. Skellar began some dodge-fire patterns and sped up.

"Should I use the missiles, Zartan?" It was too quick of a method for destroying the Joes, but Niles figured he had better suggest it.

"Of course not, you fool! They need to suffer." The Dreadnok leader sneered and grabbed controls of the 55mm main cannons. He was starting to sound like Cobra Commander. "But wait. Drop the torpedoes."

"Excuse me?"

"The torpedoes! Drop them. They are worthless against a floating craft, and are therefore just deadweights."

As much as he hated to agree with Dreadnok scum, it made sense--but it hurt to toss away expensive—and frankly, very beautiful—torpedoes. "Aye, sir." With a couple button pushes, the two enormous "Black-Ray" torpedoes were aimlessly drifting to the bottom of the sea.

"We need speed, Lamprey Niles Skellar. Speed is the one factor we have that the Joes are distinctly lacking. To increase it only makes us stronger."

"Aye, sir." _Now he sounds like Destro_.

Once the Moray had reached the 23mm turret-cannon firing range, Skellar lowered the skiffs and placed the hydrofoil on an assault course. _There. A break in the Joe's firing pattern_. Niles sped up towards the WHALE and Zartan pulled the triggers for the 55mm main guns. The hydrofoil pounded out its ammunition; Zarana covered her ears and cursed out loud, but was drowned out by the sound of the cannons. Using its better line at the WHALE, the starboard barrel blasted a chunk off of the Joe craft's port bow.

Victory didn't last long. Skellar tilted the Moray counter-clockwise to block a heavy barrage of rapid fire pouring from the hovercraft's 1.75" twin turrets. The Lamprey made it a point to keep the hydrofoil about fifty yards off the Joes' port side and let Zarana and the Dreadnoks take on the WHALE with the turret and .30-cal. mounted machine guns. That limited the Joes to one turret to respond with, manned by a Marine, and some Coast Guardsman shooting a small assault rifle from the stern. But with the heavy fire coming from the Dreadnoks, they couldn't return much. Skellar also kept focus on the port quad-missile-launcher. As long as he kept the hydrofoil under thirty yards away, it was too dangerous for the Joes to use it.

The Dreadnoks jumped as the hovercraft's main hatch kicked up and a huge Joe crawled out, toting a .50-caliber machine gun. Slowly leveling the monstrous rifle, the muscle-bound gunner started a rainstorm of heavy fire at the Moray. More precisely-fired yet extremely deadly shells began ripping through the upper frame of the Moray, sending the Dreadnoks ducking for cover. Lamprey Skellar turned the wheel right, and accelerated forward. The big Joe didn't budge until Zarana rotated the 23mm turret and opened up on him. The .50-cal. gunner, _("Roadblock" wasn't it?)_ was forced below decks, and the hatch slammed back down.

As the Moray thrusted away, Niles felt punches into his right shoulder. Snapping his head clockwise, the Lamprey came face-to-face with Zartan.

"Turn this damn boat around!" screamed the Dreadnok over the roar of the engines. "We need to attack the rear of the hovercraft, and take out its propellers!"

Skellar, much to his annoyance, agreed. Following his nod of obedience, the Moray was swung a hard-left fish-tail turn and punched back towards the WHALE.

But the Joes were no fools. They had come about and had every weapon lined directly on the Cobras.

And they were firing them.

Heavy shells and rapid fire swarmed the hydrofoil, sending Skellar into high-speed maneuvering that no Dreadnok could ever dream of equaling. Despite his amazing efforts, however, his precious Moray was getting ripped to pieces. Out of the corner of his eyes, Niles could see that the Joes were paying a price, too. The Dreadnoks were actually blasting out enough fire to chip and scrape away the sides of the hovercraft. One of the 105mm main guns had even been destroyed.

Once the hydrofoil raced past the port side of the WHALE for the second time, it performed another fish-tail, and started a third attack run. Zartan flipped up the front missile fire controls. Raising out from their hidden storage rack beneath the Moray's hull, the row of four short-range assault missiles locked into launch position.

"Punch it!" ordered Zartan. Skellar slammed forward the accelerator, desperate to get to the hovercraft before it could turn about again. Zartan's eyes remained glued to the missile-sights as he pressed the four triggers in sync.

The flaming yellow projectiles growled and shrieked through the air, gaining speed as they blasted their way towards the back side of the WHALE. The armored mammoth began a left turn, and using unbelievable speed revved its propellers up enough to dodge the majority of the missiles. But it was too late; in only a matter of seconds one of the raging hunters had struck its prey. A gargantuan ball of flame engulfed the port fan; one Joe was sent flying overboard and the hovercraft was hurled into chaos.

"Yes!" cheered Zartan. "Victory is mine! This is why _I_ am the leader of the all-powerful Dreadnoks!"

Lamprey First Class Niles Skellar snarled, ready to scream, but managed to reduce it to a loud growl. "You? _You?_ You just pushed buttons! I had all the real skill! If it wasn't for me, you'd be kissin' the fishies, echo-boy!"

The Dreadnok Leader's chest sizzled with red rage. "Do you realize the stupidity of what you are doing right now, Lamprey Skellar? You are going to regret insulting me, you will regret it for the rest of your life!"

A shriek of panic came down from Zarana atop the turret. "Will you two stop yer bickerin' and pay attention to what the Joes are doin'?"

Skellar and Zartan looked back to the flaming, smoking hovercraft, only to immediately jump back to their controls and frantically attempt to get the Moray moving again. A G.I. Joe Marine had climbed to the side of the WHALE and manually turned the starboard quad-missile-launcher towards the hydrofoil. Another couple of Joes were working at the rear of the launcher, fiddling with cables and wires, apparently trying to manually launch the tube-rockets.

It worked.

Just as Skellar fired life back into the Moray's engines again, three missiles launched from the hovercraft, slicing through the air just meters about the water until two of them slammed into the side of the Cobra hydrofoil about ten feet back of the boat's bow. The explosion knocked every standing man on-board flat to the floor.

"Z-Zartan?" whimpered Ripper, "'ave we won yet, 'cause I'd like ta go home now."

"Shut-up, you fool. Lamprey! Bring us about so we can use our main guns on them!"

"Not possible, sir."

"What?" Zartan expected another fight.

"We're taking on water," explained Skellar, "That missile shot put a helluva-hole in us, and if we don't get back to shore pretty quickly, we're gonna sink out here."

The Dreadnok Leader roared out in anger and performed a rare throw-off of his cowl. "Dammit! Fine then! The Joes are too damaged to do anything to us anymore, anyways. Get us back to Outpost Seven, quickly!"

"Aye, sir." With that, Niles Skellar began a very long and scream-filled drive back to the island.

4.

"Dreadnoks…_cough—cough_…really piss me off."

"Me too, Gung-Ho." Said Leatherneck. "If I ever see any of those assholes again I'm gonna tear their heads off! And Wild Weasel's, too!"

"Be quiet, you two." Ordered Doc. He was pretty badly banged up, but that wasn't slowing him down one bit When there were injured men to take care of, Doc was stronger than a MOBAT. "Help me get Cutter laid out across the deck."

Roadblock slowly climbed out of the hatch and crawled over to the port turret that Doc was trying to get Cutter across.

Leatherneck limped across the deck, holding onto his arm. Gung-Ho didn't look too badly burnt or broken, but he definitely wasn't going to be wrestling 'gators for a while. The Joes spread their teammate out onto what little flat surface there was left on the hovercraft's deck. Doc began CPR. The missile strike hit Cutter the hardest. He wasn't dead, but he was going to be in a lot of pain for a long time.

Roadblock crawled to the starboard side of the WHALE, trying to settle his nerves. Having only caught a glimpse of the blinding explosion, Roadblock could only pray for his friend. _You pull through this, Cutter, I guarantee, I'll cook you the best tastin' lobster in the Atlantic sea!_

Then it hit him.

"Where's Shipwreck?"

Leatherneck and Gung-Ho looked at each other. "Uh…we just kind of figured he was okay." Said the big cajun.

Pointing to the sides of the hovercraft, Roadblock tried not to let the chills he was feeling overcome him. "Quick, guys, get to the boat sides and look for him! He must have gone overboard with that blast!" The big Joe gunner stumbled to the stern of the craft and looked across the water. As annoying as that old Navy sea dog could be, Shipwreck was a G.I. Joe, and there was no way would Roadblock abandon him.

"Ahoy!" came a call from the starboard side, about thirty yards away. G.I. Joe's master chef stood up and put his fists on his hips.

"You scruffy sea dog, we were actually worried about you!" Shipwreck sat in a relaxed position on top of the SHARC as it slowly made its way towards the WHALE.

"Well, I'm touched, big guy. My leg is a little sore if you want to give it a massage."

"Stuff it, wet-head." Snarled Gung-Ho. The cranky Marine reached over to the sailor and pulled him onto the hovercraft. Deep-Six popped open the cockpit of the SHARC.

"Why the hell didn't you help us with the hydrofoil?" growled Leatherneck.

"My orders are to take out planes and subs. Boats are your problem." Replied the SHARC pilot in his monotone way.

Leatherneck's face grew red. "You bastard! Look what happened to us! And you don't care?"

"I saved Shipwreck."

The hot-headed Joe Marine was getting ready to jump down and swing a punch when Gung-Ho grabbed his arm. "Calm down, Leatherneck! We ain't got time to fight amongst ourselves."

Roadblock nodded. "Deep-Six, despite your orders, we need your help to complete ours."

The Joe diver just sighed.

"Look, your orders are to defend us, and we are just going to float adrift, open for attack unless you help us."

Deep-Six pondered that for a few moments. Roadblock wasn't sure what he was feeling, what with his flat, expressionless face. He finally replied, "Okay, what do you need?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

**Return to Cobra Outpost Seven**

1.

The descending VTOL jets once again blasted the landing pad clean of any and all debris. Originally designed to support small to medium-sized helicopters, the pad was reinforced so that it could launch Rattler fighter jets or Mamba assault helicopters.

But this was no comfort to Wild Weasel. The concrete square still looked small, and was hard to aim for. Little did Cobra's Ace Pilot realize that he was focusing on the least of his worries.

The Rattler's right thruster finally sputtered dead, and the jet's landing gear slammed to the ground. Cursing at the idea of having to perform heavy field repairs, Wild Weasel popped the cockpit hatch open and climbed out. Seeing the amount of abuse his Rattler had suffered from the SHARC was humiliating. _I am getting back out there and killing them all!_

Fortunately for Cobra's Ace Pilot, the right engine only took about fifteen minutes to return to usable condition—at least worthy of getting Wild Weasel back into the air and able to launch missiles. But first the Rattler needed fuel.

Cobra's Ace Pilot kneeled next to the gas tanks, unhooked clamps and started pulling hose. Unbeknownst to him, the pack of C-4 sat in deadly silence, awaiting the moment he pressed the "On" button. Normally such a simple jury-rig wouldn't get past this seasoned pilot, but he was in a rush. Zartan would be furious with him for his recent actions, but his rage against the Joes was stronger than any concern he had for Zartan.

As the frantic Rattler pilot ran back to the pump and reached for the controls, he would never know that he owed his life to the Dreadnok that swung a crowbar onto the back of his head.

2.

_I don't have time for this, but man, I'd love to stick around and watch!_ From his point of view buried deep in a bundle of plant-life, Torpedo craved a soda pop and some popcorn. Viewing the chaos that called itself "Cobra" was quite a show. The Dreadnoks were morons, and watching them repeatedly bumble around the body of Cobra's number one pilot was pretty funny.

Still, the true chaos was in Torpedo's mind. The fact that Wild Weasel could have vaporized himself by flipping the "On" switch was eating the Joe SEAL's conscious alive. Torpedo had wanted to blow up the landing pad by remote, but was scared off by the Dreadnoks. Now that Wild Weasel was being dragged away from the fuel pumps, it was probably safe to blow it up, but he couldn't risk revealing his position quite yet. He had to move on, and pray that no one else got near those pumps.

When the Dreadnoks pulled out bundles of rope and began wrapping up Wild Weasel's unconscious body with hoses, the Joe SEAL felt some relief. Who else on this scrawny island would have need of using the Rattler? And if all the hose was gone, how could they use the pumps?

Torpedo crawled away giggling.

Apparently things weren't going that great for Cobra. The WHALE had survived the attacks from the Rattler and Moray, although all three of the vehicles were smoking wrecks. Now, the only Cobras left on the island were fighting amongst themselves. At least it left Torpedo unnoticed.

His number-one concern was the fact that the Moray was coming back to the island. If the baddies were heading home, then the SEAL had better get his act together and provide a few surprises. He had only tried some light sabotage so far, which had failed miserably. _It might do some good to take a look at the dock._

Staying out of sight of the Dreadnoks roping up Wild Weasel, Torpedo raced down to the shoreline. Upon reaching the large concrete dock, he crawled into the water, staying close to the dock's southern side, out of the Moray's view. Using the rest of his C4 packets, Torpedo spread a line of explosives along the dock's length, connecting them all by wire.

Once back on shore, the new Joe commando ran his line of cable fifty yards into the forest, and took a secure position behind a tree. The Dreadnoks would reach the shore in a matter of minutes, and then, he would press the trigger connected to the wire. He was trying the exact same thing he tried at the landing pad, except that this time, it would be a lot safer, and this time, it was going to work.

_Don't worry, Zartan, I'm not here to kill you._

3.

"'E's gonna kill us, Zartan!"

"Shut up, Ripper!" barked back the Dreadnok Leader. "But he had better find a way to keep this boat afloat, or I'm going to kill _him!_"

The stupidity of these Dreadnok goons rang so loudly in Skellar's ears that it hurt. "Almost a third of our hydrofoil has been blown away, but I've managed to get us a quarter-mile from the island, and you're still firing death-threats at me! You need a lesson in respect!" Zartan growled and splashed back down in his sinking seat.

"How much time do we have?"

The Moray was more below the waves than above it. The water had reached the edge of the craft, and had been filling it up for some time. Speed had been reduced to a crawl, and the engine was on the verge of collapse. It was only through Skellar's experience in boating fishing trolleys through storms that the Moray could stay level at all.

"We're going under in less than five minutes. I suggest throwing away anything heavy."

Zartan grunted. "All right, you heard him. Drop your gear and ammo. Get ready to jump in. We have a ways to swim."

"But, but Zartan, we don't knows 'ow ta swim." Whined Ripper.

"Well, here's a good chance for you to learn."

The sounds of the Dreadnoks whimpering and kissing their guns goodbye were music to Skellar's ears.

What hurt the most to Lamprey First Class Niles Skellar was the fact that he was about to lose his favorite thing in the world: his precious Moray. He had been working on it for almost a year now, ever since he was promoted from the Second Class Lamprey Gunnery Division and assigned his own hydrofoil. On that day, he swore that he would always take care of his Moray, make it the best-kept hydrofoil in the entire Cobra fleet, and never let anything happen to it. But the day that Monkeywrench walked up to him on that dock, he knew that his future was bleak. At least his Moray went down in battle, and did a heckuva-lotta damage to those damn Joes at the same time. And a Joe WHALE no less!

"Wake up, Lamprey! Let's go!" barked Zartan.

"Huh? Oh, aye, aye, sir." There he was, day-dreaming again. That was getting to be a problem.

The group of Cobras merely floated out into the ocean waters—no need to jump. Thankfully, it wasn't very cold southwest of Florida. Skellar, Zarana and Zartan began swimming towards Cobra Outpost Seven, but the Dreadnoks began some panic-stricken dog-paddling. Their hyper-active motions were keeping them up, but would exhaust them before they reached shore. Niles didn't mind at all.

Luckily for the Dreadnoks, the tide was with them, and so the swim to shore was a hair shorter. Skellar walked onto the shore, Zartan and Zarana crawled, and the Dreadnoks drug themselves across the sand, crying out vows of never returning to the water again, not even to take a bath. Niles doubted they ever took one of those, anyway.

"We need to get down to the dock and pick up our back-up gear." ordered Zartan as he stood up. "The Joes will undoubtedly be here soon, and we need to prepare a defense."

"Defense?" questioned Monkeywrench, "Defense with what, Zartan? We lost our boat, and our extra guns ain't enough to stop the Joes!"

The Dreadnok Leader sighed and spun around. "There are plenty of defenses spread about the island that we can defend ourselves with. Now get down to the dock and grab your weapons!" Zartan stomped off towards the dock, his emotion-responsive body armor sparkling in a mad dance of red.

_How could things have gone so wrong?_ pondered the Lamprey Niles Skellar, _But perhaps there was no way to win._ If he had destroyed the Joes out there, a full force of blood-thirsty G.I. Joe reinforcements would have swarmed down upon that lone hydrofoil and vaporized it. It didn't seem likely that Zartan was going to get any help from Destro. By letting the WHALE live, he gave the screwy Dreadnoks a chance to return to shore and reset their defenses. It was the better choice by far, even if he had to give the Joes a second chance.

Then, he was woken up from his day-dreaming again.

Niles didn't notice the explosion until the sound of it struck him and nearly knocked him down. By the time he looked over the dock, chunks of concrete were hurtling through the air as the blast of fire speared up into the air and puffed into a cloud of dark smoke. Burning concrete came raining down around the shore and into the ocean, sending the nearby Dreadnoks shrieking in fear and scrambling for the trees. Zartan and Zarana stood their ground, staring in anger at the sight, only moving when a piece of concrete came too close to them. The dock collapsed into the water, crumbling to pieces as it fell.

Skellar was too far away to be in any danger from the explosion, and therefore just stood with a smile on his face. This was just what he wanted. Now, with the Dreadnoks distracted, he disappeared into the jungle.

"Zartan! Hey, Zartan!" called a voice running down from the landing pad.

"If you value your life, make it quick, Buzzer."

"I, uh, I just wanted to tell ya that we've got Wild Weasel strung up back near the 'elipad. 'E's out cold at the moment, but besides a hefty lump on 'is 'ead, 'e's all right."

The Dreadnok's Leader prepared to kill his idiot henchman, but then started rubbing his unshaven scruff. _Damn._ "Cut him down and bring him to me."

Buzzer couldn't stop blinking his eyes. "But Zartan, I thought we were supposed to--."

"I know what you were supposed to do! There has been a change in plans. Just make sure you cut Wild Weasel down before he wakes back up!"

"Well, okay, Zartan. You's the boss." Buzzer turned around and slowly hiked back up the hill towards the landing platform.

The Dreadnok Leader did actually find some good news. Upon reaching the dock, Zarana found a couple of supply crates that were not placed on the dock. One of them contained a few small weapons, the other Zartan's supplies. Regardless, how this little pathetically-armed batch of exhausted mercenaries could hold off a G.I. Joe invasion force was beyond comprehension.

4.

It was definitely one of the strangest sights that Roadblock had ever seen.

The SHARC's thrusters were blasting at full power as the amphibious aircraft held its position sixty yards in front of the WHALE. Chains linked between Deep-Six' and Cutter's vehicles were pulled almost the point of snapping as the SHARC towed the hovercraft as fast as it possibly could towards Sammeston Island. Shipwreck swore that this set-up of his would hold together, but nobody was betting on it.

With half-a-mile still to go, the team was getting a bit anxious. Everyone and everything was a bit beat-up. Cutter was barely able to stand up. Doc kept him laid flat on the WHALE for the moment, but when the time to strike came, he would have to man the hovercraft's controls. Leatherneck stayed below deck prepping the weapons while Shipwreck drove the boat. Roadblock and Gung-Ho sat in the turrets, keeping their eyes focused on the island ahead.

Well, almost.

Rations. There was nothing more disgusting in the world to G.I. Joe's master chef than field rations, but right now that was all he had. Roadblock and his fellow WHALE companions were using this time to get a light snack before the assault. Occasionally a wave would splash sea water onto the food, and improve the flavor. Granted, rations really were of decent quality nowadays, but it was just the name "rations" that made them despicable to the gourmet chef.

"How are you feeling, Roadblock? How's the back?" asked Doc as he fed Cutter some food.

"Better than these rations are. How they expect a man to live on this stuff…"

Doc smiled. "That stuff will do a lot more for you right now than filet mignon would."

"Yeah, but I could eat a lot more of the mignon."

G.I. Joe's oldest, most experienced doctor set down the food and adjusted his glasses. "Well, it looks like you're eating your share of rations, nevertheless." Roadblock frowned, but Doc smiled warmly. "Let me take a look at your back."

The chef's stomach grumbled as he turned around. "Guess I'm still cravin' a little real food."

"You're too picky."

"I ain't picky, I just got class."

Doc let out a short laugh and patted his friend's shoulder. "You've also got a pretty good back. You might want to avoid shooting that behemoth machine gun of yours on a slippery deck, though."

"No can do, Doc." Said Roadblock as he turned back around and pulled his shirt down. "There's a bunch o' slitherin' Cobras on that little island out there, and I intend to blast their scaly butts out into the sea."

"I could force you to stay in the turret." warned the Joe doctor.

"Then you'll never taste one of my filet mignons ever again."

Doc didn't say another word.

"Ahoy!" called out Shipwreck, "We're comin' up on the island! Take yer stations! Doc, can Cutter man the hovercraft?"

"I don't think--."

"Damn straight…I can!" stated the Joe's Coast Guardsman as he painfully raised himself up off the WHALE's deck.

"Cutter! You shouldn't--!"

"At ease, Doc. You guys need all the help you can get. I'm no good to you _on_ the shore, but maybe, just maybe I can get you _to_ it." Cutter coughed a couple of times and fell to one knee. "Now, if you will help me get back to the controls…we can get ready."

"Yes, sir." Doc lifted him up, and with Shipwreck's help, guided the officer to the damaged rear of the hovercraft. Once there, a call came in from Deep-Six.

"ETA thirty-seconds to the shoreline. I'm going to break the chains at that time, and you'll just drift in. Stopping is up to you."

There was an odd tone in his voice. Cutter responded to it. "You're going to…swing back around and strafe the beach for us, correct?"

"Negative. My job was to get you to the beach. Invasion is up to you. This is where we break company."

"What?" It was bad for Cutter to heat up, but it was happening. "You aren't going to help your team? Who do you think you are?"

"My orders are to protect you from aircraft assault. I've done more than required of me today already. Over and out."

With that, the SHARC dropped the cables, swerved north, dove into the water and disappeared from view.

"That son-of-a-bitch!" barked Gung-Ho. Cutter just stood in silence, too weak to continue an argument.

The WHALE bounced across the waves, straight for Sammeston Island.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

**The Beaches of Sammeston Island**

1.

Surprisingly light, but rapid machine-gun fire scraped the skin of the WHALE. It was impossible to determine exactly where on the island the shots were pouring from, but Roadblock's best guess was twenty-degrees north. Signaling the target area to Gung-Ho, he swerved his turret north, and the two Joes began a heavy bombardment of the tree-line behind the beaches. Plants and bushes erupted from the intense fire, and after only a few moments, the machine-gin fire towards the WHALE stopped.

"Go! Go! Go!" cried out Gung-Ho. The hovercraft's exit-ramp quickly flipped open. Leatherneck, Doc and Shipwreck sprinted out of the hold, down the ramp and across the beach. The light machine-gun fire began chasing the Joes, but Leatherneck took a stance and fired back into the brush, giving Doc and Shipwreck the cover they needed to make it to the tree-line. Before the Joe Marine could follow his teammates, an arrow zipped through the air and speared into his right shoulder. Leatherneck dropped his M-16 and fell to one knee. Shipwreck attempted to run out and help him, but a big burst of bullets spewed from the trees, and a giggling Dreadnok chased the Joe SEAL back into the brush.

"Damn!" cursed Roadblock.

"Let's go, Mr. Gourmet Chef!" ordered Gung-Ho as he slid down from his turret position and into the hold of the WHALE.

"Right on, Cajun-Boy!" Roadblock slid down as well, although it was a tight fit. Down in the transport area, Gung-Ho had already grabbed his back-pack and grenade-launcher and was making his way out of the hovercraft. Roadblock hefted up his .50-caliber machine-gun, slipped on his back-pack, checked the ammo-belt, and just for good measure, slapped on his old helmet.

As the biggest G.I. Joe machine-gunner stomped down the hovercraft's exit-ramp, he was amazed at the site. The little beach had become a complete war-zone. To the north, only small, maybe medium-stregnth assault-rifles were spraying the sand with rapid-fire. Just to the south, Shipwreck had come face-to-face with Buzzer and was in a fist-fight. Doc had even started wrestling with Monkeywrench! Where were all the Dreadnok's classic weapons?

As for Gung-Ho? What better way to save Leatherneck, than with grenades?

While dodging gunfire, the bare-breasted, roaring Cajun marine launched an explosive into the ground right between Torch and Leatherneck. The Dreadnok fell backwards, and dropped his Uzi, but Leatherneck was also knocked head-over-heels. There was a lot of swearing at that moment, but most of it was from Leatherneck to his fellow Marine Gung-Ho.

Since everyone seemed to have an opponent to fight, it only seemed logical that Roadblock take on the machine-gunner shooting from up the beach. The problem was, the Joe heavy-gunner wasn't sure where he was. Despite the danger, Roadblock moved as fast as he could across the wet sands, trying not to sink while carrying his heavy gear.

Then, the bullets turned towards him.

The big Joe dropped to the ground, and desperately tried to keep sand out of his rifle's important parts. It was impossible to keep the tide from licking the back of his feet. The bullets from the hidden Cobra were like bees swarming all around the big guy. Most of the shots missed, but a few were scraping, and it even felt like a couple may have stuck into his thick muscles. Fortunately, it didn't take long to pinpoint where the fire was coming from.

_There you are. We can play your game. But when I carry this baby, I don't need to aim._

Roadblock pulled the trigger, and his massive machine-gun, or cannon, if you prefer, began shredding apart the brush directly ahead of him. After only a couple of seconds, the sound of a loud feminine shriek called out over the sound of the rifle's rapid bursts.

"Damn." The big gunner stood up from the sand, and attempted to pick up his .50-cal., only to realize that his arms had been too scrapped up with bullets; the best he could do was drag it. He was draining blood, but before he went crawling back to Doc, he had to confirm the kill.

As Roadblock took slow, cautious steps up the beach, his helmet slipped off of his head, fell onto a rock by his feet and dented. There were chips and scrapes across it from deflected bullets. _Damn, that was a classic helmet!_

About ten yards into the brush, Roadblock found Zarana laying on her back and breathing heavily. There was a lot of blood pouring from her left shoulder.

"Get…get away from me…you…you damn Joe…"

Roadblock set down his rifle and painfully tore his shirt in half. "Let me rap that up for you. I don't want you bleedin' to death."

Zarana frowned. "First ya try to kill me, now you're trying ta save me?"

Roadblock smiled. "It's called being one of the 'Good Guys'."

Zartan's sister screamed as her enemy-turned-savior wrapped her shoulder, then tied it as strongly as he could. "Like that's gonna help me, ya stupid Joe!"

"Sorry, baby, but it's the best I can do right now. I'm a little too torn up myself to try anything fancy. Don't worry about the shot: it went clean through, but it broke a bone or two. Right now, we just need to stop the bleedin'. Maybe Doc can look at you. If he survives this."

Zarana blinked her eyes in disbelief at the burly behemoth kneeling next to her. "Do you want somethin' from me, Joe?"

Roadblock smiled. "Maybe you can stay out of the fight from now on?"

"Like I have a choice. By the way, I like bein' a 'Bad Guy.'" She nodded to something over the machine-gunner's right shoulder.

"Huh?" Roadblock tried to stand up and turn around, but it was too late; an arrow whistled through the air and punctured his right tricep. "Ow! Damn! That was my good arm!"

Before Roadblock could work on getting the arrow out, another arrow stabbed through his left bicep. "Dammit! That better not be you, Storm Shadow! I told Snake I'd leave you up to him, but now you're really pissin' me off!"

Another shot speared into the left side of his chest. "Aauuggh!" The big Joe gunner started coughing and spitting up blood. "Damn…damn you Storm Shadow!"

Bushes and plants rustled as Zartan walked into view—carrying his Sonic Bow. "I'm a little insulted, mighty Roadblock, that you Joes think that that psychotic moron Storm Shadow is the only Cobra that can shoot a bow and arrow."

Roadblock dropped to his knees and coughed. The accumulation of the bullet-wounds and now arrow-wounds were too much, even for the G.I. Joe walking super-fortress. "Maybe…maybe he's the only one…with any talent."

Zartan's chest began to glow red, but it soon calmed back down. "Very good, Mr. Roadblock. But you don't win this time." The Dreadnok Leader pulled out an arrow and drew back his Sonic Bow. "And even if I don't have any talent, I'm not going to miss at this distance."

Roadblock looked up to see the tip of an arrow less than arm's length from his face. He knew there was only one thing left for a big Joe gunner to do.

Laugh.

2.

Cackling in triumph, Wild Weasel placed the pistol's barrel against Zartan's stomach, sending the whimpering Dreadnok to his knees, hands folded.

"P-please, great Wild Weasel, don't kill me! I-I beg of you! I will never give you an order ever again!"

Cobra's Ace Pilot smiled. "Damn straight you won't." Pulling the trigger sent the leader of the Dreadnoks shaking and slumping to the ground.

"Master!" screamed his henchmen as they ran towards his quickly rotting carcass, crying in hysteria. Wild Weasel was about to shoot them as well, but somehow, he was now in his Rattler, ready to blast them with the 30mm gatling cannon. Confused, but pulling the trigger nevertheless, Wild Weasel cheered in triumph. But Zartan's minions wouldn't die. They magically transformed into massive, rabid hyenas, jumping at the blue jet fighter, snapping their salivating jaws and swinging their broken claws into the air.

"Get away from me, you dogs!" roared Wild Weasel as he now fired his Rattler's missiles at the Dreadnok mutts and incinerated the lot of them.

"You will never defeat me! I am more than you could ever hope to become!" gloated Cobra's Ace Pilot as he flew off into the sunset…until a massive tower speared up from the ground. Deep red and flaming hot, it blocked the Rattler's flight path. Suddenly, arms spread from its sides and a huge head grew out of the top…it became Zartan…a giant Zartan forever in the path of Wild Weasel.

"You fool!" bellowed the voice of the Dreadnok leader, "You can never escape from me! I am invincible! I am your shadow, your curse, your destruction!"

"No!" screamed Wild Weasel as he swerved away from the sickeningly huge Dreadnok. But as the Rattler attempted to escape, the Dreadnok hyenas leapt out of Zartan's red chest and ensnared the blue assault fighter in their teeth and claws, shattering it to pieces, sending Wild Weasel falling out of the Rattler to his eternal doom. He cried for mercy as he plummeted into the blackness, but no one heard him…

Then…he woke up.

When he awoke, he was immediately blinded by the strength of the sunlight.

_Was that all…a dream?_ He could feel his heart pounding, and sweat soaking his body.

The relief from realizing his dream status was short-lived, however.

_Am I…upside down?_ Everything was flipped over, and Wild Weasel had quite a headache. He tried to wipe the sweat from his forehead, but quickly realized that he couldn't move his arms. He couldn't move _anything_. He was completely wrapped in fuel hose. _Those damn Dreadnoks did this, I know it!_

Footsteps. Looking down…er…up, Cobra's Ace Pilot could see a Lamprey Eel walking towards him—carrying a knife.

3.

Was he looking at a scene from _Predator_ or _The Three Stooges_? Seeing a man wrapped in hose can be a bit frightening, but the ridiculously sloppy job that the Dreadnoks did forced Skellar to snicker. Add to the fact that the tree branch supporting the inverted pilot was sticking out from just above the crotch, and the whole project cried out "The Work of a Doofus."

Regardless, Wild Weasel had just cried out in fear. He had a nightmare, and had awoken just now. Niles didn't get to him in time. Now the pilot had humiliation to deal with.

"Wha—what do you want, Lamprey?" asked Cobra's Ace Pilot in an aching voice. "Did they send you to kill me?"

It was strange to see Wild Weasel's face. For the longest time, he had been a sort of unidentifiable robot behind that massive red helmet of his. But now the helmet was lying on the ground next to him. It was refreshing to see that Cobra's self-proclaimed "God of the Skies" was human after all.

"Don't jump ta any conclusions, Wild Weasel. Don't ya think the Dreadnoks would rather be doin' that themselves?"

Studying the Ace Pilot's eyes for the first time ever, the Moray pilot could see him thinking. "Yeah, they probably would. So are you here to cut me down, or just laugh?"

Skellar checked over his shoulder before lowering to one knee. "Again, don't be jumpin' ta conclusions. I'm not here to control ya. I want ta be on your side!" Skellar leaned in closer, "But I have ta be sure that I can trust ya."

Normally Wild Weasel would laugh off such a cheesy statement and go get a beer, but at this moment he really had no other option but to listen. "Go on."

Niles slowly nodded. "We have something in common: the Dreadnoks are using and—well, look at yourself—abusing us."

Cobra's Ace Pilot squirmed. "You seem to be doing rather well."

The Lamprey stood up and spread his arms and turned to the east. "Do you really believe that? Two Dreadnoks have sworn ta kill me once this little endeavor of theirs is over. I may not be hanging now, but I might be soon. Aye, I might be." Skellar took a step back and spread his arms, "Unless I get me an ally! Someone in as dire straits as meself. Someone who hates the Zartan bunch as much as I do. Someone who wants to teach them Dreadnok bastards a little lesson in common courtesy! Someone…like _you_ Wild Weasel!"

Cobra's Ace Pilot broke out in hysterical laughter. "What? _Me_? You want us to team up and betray Cobra, just so we can get a little vengeance towards the Dreadnoks? You're freakin' insane!"

"Look at yourself, Wild Weasel! You're hangin' upside down by yer crotch, wrapped up in hose, waitin' for the Dreadnoks to come kill ya! What have you got ta lose?"

Wild Weasel looked to the horizon for a few seconds, then back to Skellar. "What do you propose we do? Join the Joes?"

Niles growled. "I will never assist the United States."

"Sorry, fish boy, but if you want the Dreadnoks to lose, you'll have to help the Joes win."

Skellar stood and stroked his chin for a few moments, deep in strategic thought. Wild Weasel was getting very anxious to get cut down, but didn't want to risk ticking off the only person on the entire island who might do it.

The Lamprey pirouetted on his right foot and took a sinister-looking stance with the sun at his back. "Then the only answer is: both sides must lose!"

Wild Weasel really wished he could scratch his head at that moment.

4.

There was no other choice. If he shot Zartan, his finger would release the arrow, and it would probably get sent straight into Roadblock's skull. He was too far away to attempt making a run at the Dreadnok, so, it was time to toss his pride out the window. _Oh, the joys of being a G.I. Joe._

Torpedo jumped up from the brush and started hopping, howling and hooting like a hyper orangutang.

"What the hell?" cursed Zartan. He turned his attention away from the mighty Joe chef, but that was just what the Joe SEAL wanted. When the Dreadnok leader lowered his sonic bow in order to get a clearer view of the wacked-out Joe dancer, Torpedo raised his Uzi and opened fire.

Zartan dove for the ground, and Roadblock quickly joined him. "Blimey! What the 'ell is goin' on?" cried out Zarana, who was still on her back and couldn't see anything.

"Some insane Joe is shooting at me!"

"Well, shoot 'im back!"

"I've only got a bow! It's a little difficult to return fire with it!"

"Well grab me gun! It'll work just fine!"

"Don't bother." Torpedo stood next to the Dreadnoks, holding his submachine gun in perfect alignment with Zartan's head. "Move away from the bow."

"'Pedo! Good to…good to see you, bro." cheered Roadblock as he slowly sat up on his knees.

"You don't look so good there, big guy."

"Just a…just a few scratches. Got in worse shape…at Steeler's last kegger."

Torpedo had to hold back a burst of laughter. "Yeah, that was a good one."

"Will you two Joes just shut up." Growled Zartan.

Torpedo grinned. "Sore loser there, mystery man?"

Zartan returned the smile. "But I haven't lost, Joe."

Roadblock's eyes bugged out in panic. "Torpedo! Look out!"

Black.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

**Eruption**

1.

As Wild Weasel climbed up the ladder towards the cockpit of his Rattler, he attempted to re-attach his helmet. Alas, it was far too damaged to ever be worn again. Not even the tools in the supply bunker could help him out. With a hefty sigh of frustration, he tossed his trusted equipment to the ground and climbed into the cockpit. _Looks like I do this bare-faced. Great._

In only a few minutes, all systems were checked and ready for flight. Something was bugging Cobra's Ace Pilot though…

_Of course! Fuel! You idiot!_

Wild Weasel climbed back out and attached the only remaining hose to the Rattler's right wing. Realizing that the hose was only long enough to reach that one wing, the pilot cursed the Dreadnoks for damaging all the other hoses when they tied him up. Still, he had flown with one engine before. If only one had fuel, he could make it to Cobra Island. The left engine still had enough fuel for a take-off, at least.

Walking over to the pump, Wild Weasel reached out to flip on the motor, when the Lamprey started calling up to him from below the landing pad.

"Weasel! Hey, Weasel! You up there?"

_Where else would I be, you idiot?_ "Yeah, I'm prepping the Rattler for take-off."

"We need to get out of here, quick! The Joes've landed on the beach and captured all the Dreadnoks!"

Wild Weasel's face went pale. "Did they get Zartan?"

"I don't think so. I didn't see Zartan or his sister, but I know some Joes went looking for them!" Skellar climbed up onto the landing pad.

"Then we need to speed things up. Now we have the Joes _and_ Zartan trying to get to us. So much for your big plan."

"It's still good, it's still good. Just get on your radio and call in the strike. As long as everyone is here, our plan'll work."

"Me? Why should I call in the strike? And by the way, it's your freakish plan, not mine."

Skellar frowned, "Do you think that Cobra Command'll listen to the request of a Lamprey First Class? I don't bloody think so! If we want to request an air strike, who better to request it than the leader of the Cobra Air Force?"

As much as Wild Weasel hated to admit it, Skellar was right. Still, if this didn't work, it would mean his death. "All right. I'll go call it in from the Rattler. You start pumping fuel."

"Aye, aye."

Cobra's Ace Pilot crawled back up into the cockpit, and noticed that Skellar wasn't pumping fuel just yet. Apparently he wanted to hear what the pilot was going to say. _Ugh._

Flicking the radio transceiver on, Wild Weasel began the transmission, "Cobra Command, this is Rattler One, do you copy? Hail Cobra." Remarkably, a reply came back in only a few moments.

"Rattler One, this is Cobra Command, what is your situation? Hail Cobra."

"Cobra Command, Rattler One reports Joe dominance of Cobra Outpost Seven. Cobra assets in perilous danger. Request immediate wipe-out of Outpost Seven to deny Joe access to Cobra assets. Hail Cobra."

The dead silence was nerve-wracking, but not unexpected. Cobra agents were trained to never repeat transmissions. Wild Weasel had made a big request, and it probably went straight to Destro, or even the Commander himself.

"What's going on?" asked Skellar.

"The request is being cleared by a high-ranking official. Patience, Lamprey!"

After almost four minutes, the reply came: "Rattler One, this is Cobra Command. Request accepted. Hail Cobra."

There it was. Said and done. No ETA was given, since the Joes probably heard everything, but Wild Weasel's guess was that in about half-an-hour, this island was going to be blown back below the sea.

2.

_Zandar! That son-of-a-bitch Zandar! Where did _he_ come from?_

Roadblock gritted his teeth as Zartan's brother lowered the butt of his rifle—the butt that just knocked Torpedo face-first onto the ground.

"Brother!" praised Zartan, "So good to see you again! Excellent timing, as usual."

Zandar simply nodded his expressionless face.

"Excellent timing?" growled Zarana as she stood up, holding her shoulder, "These Joes nearly killed us!"

"You're safe now, sister." said Zandar, rather dryly.

"That isn't the bloody point! Where have you been all this time, while we've been fightin' for our bloomin' lives?" Zarana's face was blood red. Zandar was still expressionless.

"I was doing exactly what I was ordered to do: wiping the Outpost's computer systems memories clean. When I heard the battle begin, I left the mansion and picked up the trail of this Joe SEAL. Unfortunately, I couldn't reach him until after he had assaulted you."

Zartan put his hand on his brother's shoulder. "You have nothing to feel sorry for, Zandar. You did an excellent job." Zarana snarled. "Now, let's quickly dispose of these Joes and rejoin the Dreadnoks."

"Fsh." Mocked Zarana, "You really think that those idiots aren't captured by now?" Zartan's chest flared red.

"She's right, brother. We need to fend for ourselves, for the time being."

Painfully admitting defeat, Zartan asked "Then where do we go?"

"The landing pad."

"And these Joes?"

"Kill 'em." Replied Zarana.

Despite the pain, Roadblock realized he had no other choice. Not giving Zandar time to aim his weapon, the massive Joe gunner jumped up and grabbed the Dreadnok by the neck with his left hand. The pain was intense, and the bleeding from his bicep increased, but he was not going to let go.

"I can kill your brother just by makin' a fist, Zartan. I suggest all you Dread-jerks drop your weapons and get out of here."

"You can't be serious, mighty Roadblock. Remember, we can just as easily kill you." Zartan aimed Zarana's small rifle at the Joe chef.

"Go ahead, chameleon-man. I guarantee you'll still have one less brother."

Zartan's eyes narrowed, then he smiled. "What if you have one less Joe teammate?" The Dreadnok Leader re-aimed the rifle at Torpedo.

Roadblock smiled, "You Dreadnoks are so predictable." The big gourmet swung Zandar into his brother. When the siblings stood back up, both were smashed face-to-face by Roadblock's monstrous iron fists. It didn't take long to see that Zarana was thirty yards away, running as fast as she could.

Roadblock was in serious danger. He had already lost a lot of blood, had a lot of skin torn up, had three large arrows stuck deep into his body—a couple actually through his arms, and he was pretty sure he had bullets wedged into his shoulders. Despite this—and a roaring headache—he grabbed his teammate Torpedo by the shoulders, and began dragging him back to the beach, and then down towards the WHALE.

He only made it about 50 yards.

3.

He had never held all the winning cards before. Seeing the puzzle pieces fall into place, the way _he_ wanted them to, was an incredible feeling. It could only be said one way: Niles Skeller was winning.

Still, winning or not, he only had a few minutes to get himself off of the island before it was carpet-bombed by the Cobra Air Force. Wild Weasel seemed like a bit of a reclusive, self-centered mercenary, but at least he was doing exactly what Skellar needed him to do so far. How long that would continue would be determined by how long Cobra's Ace Pilot valued his alliance with Skellar. But Niles was a good exaggerator and liar. He could keep Weasel's panic up. But once the ride to Cobra Island was done with, Skellar would wait for a clear shot at the pilot's back…

"Hurry up with the fuel, Lamprey!"

Skellar's face tightened up. He didn't like being told what to do, especially by Wild Weasel. Still, he needed the pilot the get off of the island, and he needed Cobra's Ace Pilot to do it. Better to let the mercenary think that he was in charge. Niles would do as he was told for now. After all, he didn't want to ruin that beautiful hand of cards he was holding.

"It's coming, it's coming."

Carrying a smile that stretched from ear-to-ear, Lamprey First Class Niles Skellar walked over to the fuel pump, and flipped the "On" switch.

4.

The thunderous blast knocked Doc onto Roadblock's body. The Joe doctor cursed and looked behind him, as did the other Joes. They all saw the dark cloud rising from the direction of the landing pad.

"What the bloomin' barnacles was that?" asked Shipwreck.

Torpedo's face went pale as he lowered the ice-pack from the back of his head. "That was the C-4 I rigged to the fuel pumps. Looks like someone turned them on."

The expressions on everyone's faces fit perfectly with the dead silence. Leatherneck was the first to break the ice.

"You blew away a bunch of Cobra's with a C-4 trap? That's funny."

"Why would you do such a thing?" asked Doc.

Torpedo was lost in a rush of emotions. "I…I meant to blow up the pumps as the Rattler was landing, but I was forced to hide by the approach of some Dreadnoks. I just wanted to destroy the pumps, not massacre people. I thought everything was okay now…"

"Look, what's done is done," said Gung-Ho, "Let's go up there and check for survivors. Shipwreck and I will go. The rest of you keep an eye on the Dreadnoks."

"Well, I'm going, too."

"Fat chance of that, Leatherneck. You're injured." Leatherneck cursed and kicked some sand, only to realize his mistake, quickly grit his teeth and grab his leg.

"I'd like to go." Requested Torpedo. Gung-Ho thought about it for a few moments, then nodded his head.

"Okay."

The Joe team reached the platform in less than five minutes. Fire was still spread about in patches spewing waves of smoke into the air. Luckily, the nearby plant-life had been cleared far enough away with the platform's construction that a fire hadn't caught and spread across the island.

Parts of the Rattler were flung towards the east, about fifty yards away from the landing pad. The jet fighter was destroyed, but apparently didn't have enough fuel in it to cause a second eruption—it just shattered. The cockpit was still in one piece, thanks to its armor plating, and had rolled about fifteen feet off of the platform.

Gung-Ho shook his head in amazement. "Shipwreck, let's go check out the bunker. Maybe somebody is hiding around there. Torpedo, go check out the cockpit; see if anyone was in the plane."

"Aye, aye, sir."

Torpedo walked around some burning rubble and hopped off the edge of the platform. Feelings of guilt were eating him alive. All he wanted to do was surprise the Cobras by blowing up the platform as they were landing. Why did he forget about the sabotage? He had it rigged to the "On" switch so that the electricity would activate the detonator. Now that he thought about it, that was very risky. Why hadn't he considered the fact that someone would be incinerated if they turned it on? Did he want this to happen?

Maybe commando-work wasn't for him after all. What would Snake-Eyes think? So far the only person who liked what he did was Leatherneck, but that guy would punch his mother if he felt like it. Torpedo would have to justify his actions eventually. But…could he?

The Rattler's cockpit was pretty burnt and beat-up, but it still held its shape. Shards of shatter-proof glass were spread about, as were scraps of metal. No surprises there. The real surprise came when Torpedo walked around to the top of the cockpit, which had been lying on the side opposite from him.

"Gung-Ho! We've got an injured pilot!"

Torpedo kneeled down and checked Wild Weasel's vital signs. His heart was still pumping, and thanks to his helmet being removed, his breathing could be confirmed. The Joe SEAL began unhooking the Cobra Pilot from the seat and pulled him out onto the ground.

"What have you found, Torpedo? Who is it?" asked Gung-Ho as he ran over.

"I can't say for sure since his helmet is missing, but his flight-suit looks like Wild Weasel's."

"Wild Weasel!" said Shipwreck in shock, "I never thought we'd catch him lying on the ground!"

"Let's get him out of here before the fires move over and eat up the rest of his plane." Ordered Gung-Ho. "Maybe Doc can wake him up."

The Navy Joes said "Aye Aye", picked up the body and started taking it back to the beach.

A feeling of fear began to overtake Torpedo. _Who activated the fuel pump?_


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

**A New Plan**

1.

_Ow! What the hell is going on?_

Just a couple of hours ago, Wild Weasel's problem was that he was in pain, and totally unable to move. Now, he was in pain, and constantly moving. He almost preferred being wrapped up. At least that way, there weren't any new pains kicking in.

But what was going on? Where was he?

_Damn._

It looked like he'd have to open his eyes, even though at this point in time, all he wanted to do was sleep.

"J-Joes!" panicked Cobra's Ace Pilot as he recognized the men carrying him. The soldiers looked down with concern, and held tightly to his arms and legs as he fought to escape.

"Hold still, ya bilge rat!" said one of the Joes, "We're trying to save you!"

"I…I am no fool, Joe. I have no friends…here. Release me and I will…warn you."

The big tattooed Joe lifted Wild Weasel up by the torso and stared at him hard. This Joe was an ugly one, that was for certain. But he was powerful. It could be felt in his grasp and read in his eyes.

Cobra's Ace Pilot did something he hadn't done in years: he trembled with fear.

"Listen to me, _mon ami_. Tell me your warning, or I'll tie you to this tree, muzzle you with twigs and break a dozen of your bones with my bare fists. Oh, but you can rest assured; I will swear to my commander that I never found you. Got it?"

Wild Weasel told them everything so fast he could barely be understood.

2.

Torpedo had never heard Gung-Ho so cruel before. There was little doubt that what the big Marine did was illegal, but the two Joe SEALs with him would never rat on their friend. Wild Weasel could claim whatever he wanted; they heard no threats whatsoever.

It was real interesting to hear a little French from the Cajun. It was rare for the Joe Marine to reveal his heritage, but it happened from time to time.

What was even more interesting was Wild Weasel's revelation of the Cobra Air Force's impending carpet bombing of Sammeston Island. That was big bad news, and this group of Joes needed to get it back to Duke ASAP.

"Torpedo," ordered Gung-Ho, "You're the fastest runner out of the three of us. Get back to the WHALE and report this information to Duke on the Jane."

"Aye, aye, sir!" Torpedo spun around and began running as fast as the terrain would allow.

He wasn't that far from the beach, but there were a lot of rocks ahead, so G.I. Joe's top SEAL cut right in order to jump through some brush, the book it down the sandy beach—but crashed right into Zandar.

As the two warriors tumbled over each other, all Torpedo could ask himself was: _Why didn't I see this guy?_

Zandar flipped Torpedo away and swung his rifle over his shoulder, aiming it directly at the Joe. Reacting on instinct, Torpedo grabbed a rock and flung it at the Dreadnok. Zandar ducked the rock, giving Torpedo time to jump up and charge, again tackling Zartan's brother and knocking the gun away.

The pair of fighters rolled through the brush, throwing punches as much as possible; attempting to send their fists through their opponent's face. An occasional kick got through, but this wasn't a "pretty" fight, this was two brawlers scrambling on the ground, trying to destroy the other person.

What was the source of all the rage? Obviously, Torpedo was angry about what Zandar had done to him during his rescue attempt of Roadblock. And Zandar? Despite his bland appearance, the man is fueled by hate. If he can find a chance to release some energy, he'll take it.

Finally, with Torpedo lying beneath him, Zandar had achieved the upper hand. Blood from his face briskly dripped onto his nearly defeated opponent. Zandar reached for a large rock, the only weapon available, and in William Shatner-style raised it high into the air and gave his statement of victory. "You…you are a savage…I salute you. But now…now is the time to finish…what I started with the butt of my rifle."

As Zandar leaned back to gain power for the kill, Torpedo folded up his right leg, pulled out his Commando knife, and thrust it into Zandar's stomach. The Dreadnok dropped the rock onto Torpedo's shoulder and it _thumped_ to the sand. Zandar curled up and rolled across the ground.

Torpedo wobbled as he stood up, cleaned his knife and walked away from his defeated foe. "I have no desire to kill you Zandar. I already have one death on my hands today and I don't want another. I'll send help for you, but right now, I have a message to send."

3.

It took every ounce of focus that Zartan had not to let his emotionally responsive body armor flash red. In times like this he regretted wearing the bothersome apparatus. Still, when he could keep his cool, having his thought and emotion control his cloaking device was pure brilliance.

Now was not that time. Watching his brother fall to a cliché stab from that second-rate Joe was enraging, and Zartan had to watch it sitting in disguise in front of a palm tree. But he couldn't risk being captured. Zartan had to escape, even at the cost of his brother.

They were never that close anyways.

Neither was his sister. Zarana had abandoned them, in her usual fashion, and would tend for herself. She was a master of disguise, but so was Zartan. He was also a master of escape. The Joes would never find either of them, but he would get away.

"Zartan!"

The Dreadnok leader jumped in shock as he heard his named called directly at him. He turned to his left and saw Zarana run at, and slide down, next to him.

Zartan de-cloaked and stared in anger at his sister. "How did you know where I was?"

Zarana smiled. "Please, I know how that shield uh yours works better than you do. 'Sides, you stink like a rotten hyena."

Zartan sniffed himself and frowned in frustration. "Well, shut up or you'll blow my position."

Zarana's eyes grew very serious. "Position don't matter one bit, bro'."

"What do you mean?"

"I 'eard them Joes talkin' when I was down by the beach, tryin' ta sneak onta their big boat. Apparently, Wild Weasel called in a full air strike of the whole bloomin' island!"

Zartan's pupils shrank. "What?"

"Ya heard me. The whole island is gonna be blown ta bits, and we got no way off!"

_Skellar. This reeks of Skellar._

4.

Pain was the first sensation that he felt. It spread across his body, engulfing his senses. But pain could be controlled. He had felt pain before; pain worse than this. The pain was slowly, groggily followed by sound. Talking. No. Screaming...and a thunderous beating sound. What was that loud beating sound? People were screaming so that they could be heard over the thunderous beating sound. Was that wind he felt? And sand pelting him?

Despite the pain and fatigue, Roadblock's curiosity forced him to open his eyes. He could see a black haze slashing the blue sky in front of him. As he turned his head left, a red leg stepped in front of him, blocking his view, and he was lifted off of the ground. Now he could feel that he was lying on a stretcher and being lifted onto a…helicopter? Yeah, a Tomahawk.

"What do you think you're doing to me, man? I ain't out of action yet."

Lifeline looked down at his teammate and smiled. "Your mind may not be, big guy, but I'm afraid your body is."

Roadblock grumbled and let himself be placed up onto the large Joe helicopter. He thought it was curious that even though it was converted to a medical EVAC chopper, with much of the seating removed, it was still fully armed. Did they expect trouble out there?

Looking to his right he could see Cutter lying on a stretcher. He was out cold.

"We had to sedate him," explained Lifeline. "He was in pretty bad shape."

"Is he gonna make it?"

"I'll do everything I can to see that he does."

_Hmph. Can't you ever say yes or no?_

Lifeline wasn't one to make promises. They scared him. Every Joe knew that. But he was damn good at what he did. They knew that, too. If anyone could save Cutter, it was him.

After Lifeline climbed on board, Roadblock looked back out at the beach. Another Tomahawk carrying a Whirlwind was landing, followed by a Dragonfly and two Sky Hawks. Something big was happening, and G.I. Joe's heavy machine gunner wasn't going to be there.

_Damn!_

5.

Torpedo walked and stumbled down the beach as the team was gathering by the Dragonfly. Doc had just taped up his face and a few cuts and bruises around his arms and legs. He was beaten up, but he could at least listen to what Duke had to say.

Gung-Ho and Shipwreck were the only other original strike team members still in action. The circle of Joes now included Duke, of course, then Wild Bill, Airborne, Lift-Ticket, Rampart, Wet-Suit, Rock'n'Roll, Repeater, Grunt, Salvo, Zap, Backblast and Breaker.

"All right, Joes, here's the situation," started Duke, "We've got a very formidable Cobra air strike force heading for this island. Whatever was on this island, they don't want us to see."

"So we're just going to give up?" growled Wet-Suit.

"We don't play by their rules. We've already got Joes working on finding out what is on this island." A few Joes nodded or smiled.

The problem is that they need time. Therefore, we're going to do everything that we can do to stop that air strike from reaching this island." That comment brought about a few mumbles of nervousness.

"What air support do we have?" asked someone.

"Just what you see before you." Duke pointed to the helicopters and Sky Hawks.

The Joe team looked at each other in shock and mild panic. Wet-Suit was the first to complain.

"You've got to be kidding me, Duke. We're supposed to hold off the biggest Cobra air strike in history with two helicopters, one ground cannon and a couple of bloated jet packs?"

"The SHARC will also provide support."

"Oh, well, that makes it all better."

"You're out of line, sergeant! We're restricted to the assets that were available on the Jane. All Joe jet aircraft are too far out-of-range to reach us in time of the strike. There is a possibility of support from Slipstream and a couple of Conquest X-30's, if, and only if we can delay the battle over 25 minutes." Quite a few head-shakes followed that statement. "Now," continued Duke, "Considering that the Cobras are attacking from the west, we need to set up on the west coast in less than five minutes or we won't be able to do anything at all! This looks like a hopeless battle, guys, and I know that, but we're fighting Cobra. That means we have to win, no matter what. That means we _will_ win, no matter what. Right?"

Everyone raised their right arms and screamed out "Yo Joe!"

The team began jumping back onto the helicopters, but before they could lift off, Breaker came running at Duke as the commander closed the cockpit of his Sky Hawk.

"Duke! Duke!" Breaker blew a bubble with his bubble gum as Duke re-opened the cockpit.

"What is it, Breaker?"

"Message from the Jane. We've got a satellite feed from Cobra Commander himself! Demands to talk to you!"

"Damn. Alright, calm down, Breaker." Duke flipped on his com to all of the aircraft. "Team, I have to head back to the Jane. Gung-Ho is in charge of everything, with Lift-Ticket his second-in-command. Keep this sharp and clean, guys. Good luck, and Yo Joe!"

The rest of the team replied the battle cry a bit half-heartedly. The loss of the Joe commander was a hard blow to the morale of the Joe team, but they new what had to be done, and would do it well.

Torpedo watched Breaker run away from Duke's Sky Hawk and step back onto Lift-Ticket's Tomahawk. The urge for battle was overwhelming.

"Torpedo!"

The Joe SEAL looked over to Duke, who was energetically waving him over to the air craft and climbing out of the cockpit. Torpedo ran over as fast as his legs would allow.

"Yes sir?"

"How good are you in a Sky Hawk?"

The question punched Torpedo almost as hard as Zandar did. "Uh, I haven't reached level three yet."

"Level two?" Duke sighed. "It'll have to do. I need you to fly me back to the Jane, refuel, then get this Hawk back into action as fast as you possibly can."

"B-but sir, shouldn't you--?"

"I don't have time. Cobra's head snake is trying to contact me, obviously to keep me out of the battle, but I can't ignore the call." He looked even harder at his fellow Joe. "I need you to take my place. Can you handle it?"

That was hands down the most difficult question that Torpedo had ever been asked in his life. Could he take the place of the most sharp-minded, battle-experienced and powerful G.I. Joe on the entire team? The one man on the team that even Snake-Eyes bowed his head to?

"I…I'll do my best, sir."

"I'm sure you will."

As the Sky Hawk lifted from the ground, and Torpedo sat in the cockpit and Duke carefully stood out upon the left landing skid, G.I. Joe's top Navy SEAL never felt more fear and pride all at the same time.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

**Strike One**

1.

It wasn't the noise that was unbearable. The Dreadnoks were surprisingly quiet considering that they were locked up inside a G.I. Joe hovercraft. It wasn't too bright or dark, either. Only two windows were left unbroken, but they controlled the amount of bright sun rays to a pleasurable level.

No, it was the stench.

Wet, bloody, sweaty and very gaseous primates like the Dreadnoks were not the type of people that could keep a room "April fresh" for more than ten seconds. And now that Wild Weasel was crammed into the tight hold of the WHALE with them, the problem grew exponentially.

The only good news was that his heathen roommates were in too much pain themselves to give Cobra's Ace Pilot much trouble; they were actually leaving him alone. Well, as well as could be expected in the cramped little space they had. He had time to think about his situation and how he could get out of it—with or without the Dreadnoks.

The fact of the matter was that Cobra was going to make a bombing run on Outpost Seven, and he was stuck on the beach in a useless boat. Skellar may have been able to get this hovercraft going again, but that _fool_ blew himself up, along with Wild Weasel's favorite Rattler. _That stupid bastard!_

Anger wasn't going to get him anywhere, and Cobra's Ace Pilot knew it. One thing he had always heard in movies was to figure out what assets he had. Well, about all he had with him was a squad of wounded morons that smelled like they rolled through a dumpster full of rotten fish. Still, wounded or not, they were brute force, and since they were so stupid, they were easily controlled. Another point of interest: no one in the WHALE was handcuffed or chained—everyone could still move freely. The Joes just didn't have any 'cuffs with them. Maybe things weren't as bad as he thought.

The trump card that Wild Weasel had over the Dreadnoks was that he knew what the Joes were up to, and the stinkers didn't have a clue. That information was what would give him all his power over them. It was time to make his move.

"Dreadnoks, listen to me."

"Wudda you want, Weasel?" asked Buzzer.

"I want what you want."

"Some grape soda and chocolate donuts?" said Torch.

"No, you moron. I want to get out of here."

Ripper laughed. "And how do you suppose we do that? There's a hundred flamin' Joes out there! We seen 'em landin' in their choppers."

Wild Weasel looked out the window. "Look outside now. The beaches are empty. They only left their doctor and one guard to watch over us. The rest went on to fight Cobra."

"Fight Cobra? Where?" asked Buzzer.

"On the other side of the island—far, far away."

"Why did they go all the way over there?"

Wild Weasel snorted. "Don't worry about that. We just need to worry about getting out of here. Now, I've got a plan--."

The Dreadnoks started laughing so loud it was painful to hear.

"What the hell is wrong with you? What is so funny?"

Buzzer spoke up. "Plan? We don't need one of your plans. We just need to wait for Zartan. That's all the plan we need." He punched Wild Weasel playfully in the shoulder and started laughing again.

"Yeah, Zartan will save us!" cheered Ripper.

_These stupid morons. How can they put their faith in someone almost as brain-dead as they are?_

As the Drednoks laughed and cheered, Wild Weasel could think of only one thing: _So much for my peace and quiet._

2.

_Are we there yet?_

Time had seemed to stop for Roadblock as he lay in the Tomahawk, agonizing over its slow and comfortable pace above the waves of the ocean. Since the Sky Hawk needed the landing pad on the Jane for a while, the Tomahawk's pilot, Updraft, saw no reason for a rush back to the freighter.

The pains in Roadblock's arms and chest had lessened thanks to the drugs that Lifeline had given him, but he still felt terrible. _Probably 'cause of the side effects._ He hated getting filled up on pain-killers, but recognized their importance.

His mind replayed the fight with the Zartan-clan over and over. There was nothing he hated more than losing to cheep shots from opponents who lacked the courage to come up and face him like a man. At this point, the big Joe chef had a little more respect for Zarana than he did for her scuzz-bucket brother. She had fired at him from a secure location, but never tried a sleazy shot-in-the-back. And who knows? She's a scuzz-bucket, too, but maybe, just maybe, Roadblock made a little bit of a connection with her when he helped her. If he could turn-around just one scuzzy Dreadnok, then today might be worth it.

Alarms screaming from the cockpit snapped Roadblock out of his moment of contemplation.

"What's wrong?" asked Lifeline.

Updraft leaned around and called back, "We've got a warning from the Jane! A couple of low-flying first-strike aircraft slipped underneath radar and swung around the sides of the island. It looks like they're heading for the Jane!"

Lifeline's face started to lose color. "What are our orders?"

Updraft turned back around and started searching around the window. "We're ordered to intercept one of the aircraft, and do whatever we can to keep it away from the Jane."

Lifeline lost more color, "I won't shoot a gun, Updraft."

The pilot's voice deepened, nearly to a level of rage, "If you want us to live you will! We have two wounded Joes on this chopper, and only me to fly it and you to man the fifties!"

"P-please. Don't ask me to…"

"I'm not asking, I'm tell--!" The Tomahawk jerked hard left and started north at full speed. "I've got a bogie in site! I'm heading to intercept!"

Time jumped from a stand-still to a race for Roadblock now. He was strapped to the floor of a helicopter that was ill-equipped for fast-paced combat, with the only available gunner unwilling to fire the weapons. The pain in his body was flushed out by the power of the adrenalin flooding his system.

Updraft was pumping far more adrenalin than Roadblock was. He was a good helicopter pilot, a _damn good_ helicopter pilot, but he was a Retaliator pilot, not a Tomahawk pilot. Roadblock cursed himself for doubting his teammate. _He's a lot better than you'll ever be!_

As the red and black object drew closer, Updraft recognized it, and called back, "It's a Mamba! It's changing course to engage us! _Lifeline get on that damn fifty!_"

As the big Joe chef lay strapped to the stretcher, he painfully strained to hear the sounds of the battle. Oddly, there were no sounds of missile fire. That could only be because the Mamba was supposed to save the missiles for the G.I. Jane. But it did fire its two sets of twin 9mm machine guns. It had a wider firing spread than the Tomahawk, but they weren't as powerful as the Joe 'copter's 20mm turret cannon. Sounds of cracking shatter-proof glass and bullet-pummeled metal were nearly deafening. Updraft skillfully kept his focus and chased off the Mamba with the turret. Hopefully, he made a lot of good hits.

"Damn that thing's fast!" called out the Joe pilot. "I only scored a few hits! I need to drop the heavy ordinance. If one of our bombs gets hit we're going down instantly." Clicking sounds from clamps around the Tomahawk snapped in as the heavy load of explosives fell down into the sea. "Lifeline! I need you on the fifties to hit the Cobras as they veer away from the 20mm!"

"I won't shoot a gun, Updraft." Said Lifeline quietly, but sternly.

Roadblock cussed. There would have been a perfect shot for the left side .50-caliber machine gun a minute ago—if someone were there to man it. But Lifeline simply sat in his chair, looking both guilty and stone-faced at the same time.

Updraft turned the Tomahawk hard right, thanking the better close-range maneuverability of the big Joe helicopter, then cursing its portly design. The Mamba's only weakness was that it was too fast to be very maneuverable in tight combat, and since it wasn't using its missiles, it had to fight close.

The 20mm buzzed a massive volley of bullets at the Cobra craft, but only managed to chase it away. Using its speed, the Mamba practically rocketed out of sight, then performed a wide left turn, and came in for another blasting run at the Tomahawk. Roadblock looked at the sleek twin-bladed helicopter complete its turn, and couldn't control himself anymore. Ignoring the pain and the blood, he broke the straps on his stretcher…

Updraft turned the right side to face the Cobra super-copter this time, since it had taken less damage thus far. He aimed the 20mm at a 45-degree angle and opened fire. But the Mamba was firing first, ripping up the side of the Tomahawk, blowing off an empty bomb-wing and sending it crashing into the ocean below. The Cobras had gotten dangerously close, so they dropped down and cut right for a quick escape from Joe 20mm. To their shock, they came right into a volley of heavy machine gun fire from the right .50-cal! The center pilot's cockpit cracked and shattered, and shells pounded into the engines.

Updraft, cut up from broken Plexiglas and bullet scrapes, whipped around to look behind him. Roadblock, barely able to hold himself up, stood behind the gun, firing like mad as the Cobra aircraft swooped beneath the Joe helicopter. Lifeline was begging him to sit down, but Roadblock was yelling at him to shut up.

"Yeah, go Roadblock!" cheered the Joe's pilot.

The Joe chef slowly turned his head and gave a thumbs-up before falling to his knees. Lifeline pulled him back from the gun.

The extra fire from the fifty didn't kill the pilot commander or even destroy the engine, but it was enough to scare the Mamba away. Smoking in defeat, the Mamba kept heading for Sammeston Island and didn't turn back around to attack the Tomahawk or the Jane.

"That was really stupid, Roadblock." Scolded Lifeline as he painstakingly pulled the big lug back onto his stretcher and put on a blanket. "You could have killed yourself."

Roadblock closed his eyes. "Just sitting on my ass would have killed us all."

Lifeline set down the blanket, sat back in his seat, and stared across the ocean with a stern, blank face.

3.

"Incoming!"

Giant red flashes ripped through the air, slamming into the side of the G.I. Jane. They were joined by even larger streaks that obliterated supply crates lying atop the deck of the large freighter. Many of the crates were covers for hidden weapon launchers and deck cannons that ruptured when struck. Navy enlisted men leapt for their lives as massive balls of fire began engulfing the ship.

Torpedo didn't even have time to set the Sky Hawk down on the landing pad. Duke was grasping onto the side of the jet craft with all of his strength. Despite the chaos, he called down to the scrambling sailors.

"Stand your ground, men! Man the deck guns!" The orders only caught the attention of a few enlisted men, who ran back to their posts.

Torpedo turned his head as something caught the corner of his eye. He could clearly see the attacking Mamba now. It had fired every missile it had at the freighter, and now made an obnoxious low-altitude pass over the Jane—the pilot was gloating over his apparent victory.

Duke began pounding on the Sky Hawk's window. "Forget about landing!" he screamed through the Plexiglas, "I'm jumping down! Take out that Mamba!"

Unable to think of a response, Torpedo just nodded and watched Duke fall twelve feet to the fiery deck. Raising himself up another thirty feet, G.I. Joe's top SEAL swung thirty degrees left, then rocketed after the Mamba.

To be considered "combat-ready" in any Joe vehicle, a pilot must be at least at level three. Torpedo was merely at level two in the abstract Sky Hawk aircraft. He could keep one in the air and fire its weapons, but chasing targets and dodging fire with one was a bit of a challenge.

It didn't take long to see that the Mamba had turned around and was coming back at Torpedo—it wasn't a run on the Jane this time. Nine-millimeter machine-gun fire began scraping the Hawk, and the Joe SEAL attempted to lock his 20mm cannons and return fire, but didn't return more than a handful of blasts before he was overwhelmed and forced to veer off.

Surprisingly, the Mamba continued a course for the Jane. Torpedo cursed at himself for getting the Sky Hawk so badly shot up, but was relieved that it could still fly. Quickly spinning it around, he chased after the Cobra 'copter again.

Thanks to his aircraft's jet engines, he caught up to the Mamba again, and decided to switch to missiles. He only had two to use, so he knew he had to make them count. When the missile-lock light turned red, the thrill of victory rushed through his body.

He pressed the trigger. Torpedo excitedly watched the smoke trail chase the Mamba—the Mamba that quickly pulled up, sending the Sky Hawk's missile to slam into the starboard side of the G.I. Jane, and violently rupture its hull.

"No! You bastards!" Torpedo was pistol-whipped with shock. His Sky Hawk was responsible for even more destruction of the G.I. Jane. Had Torpedo killed again? Did he kill his own friends this time?

Slowly floating across the roaring, crackling deck, he watched the seamen desperately attempting to spray water on the flames to save the supply crate weapons and maybe even a few of their lives.

When the Hawk emerged from the black cloud of smoke, its pilot was staring coldly across the ocean, hungry for a Mamba now making a run for the northern point of Sammeston Island.

4.

"I surrender!"

"What?"

Zartan dropped to his knees with his arms spread. "Please! I don't want to die! Get me off of this island! I am weaponless, take me with you, I beg of you!"

Grunt kept his M-16 lined up directly at Zartan as the Joe jumped off of the WHALE. "Dreadnoks are never weaponless. You're up to something."

A very theatrical expression of shock came to the Dreadnok leader's face. "But, how could you say such a thing, to a desperate man?"

"Aaaaayeeeeaaaahhhhh!" A loud scream came shrieking from the north, and Grunt turned to see Zarana running frantically down the beach waving her arms and jumping like mad.

Doc stood up from the back of the WHALE. "What the heck is going on?"

"It's Zartan's sister. She's going nuts!" Grunt turned back to face Zartan—_but he was gone. _"Damn!"

"What is it?"

"Zartan's disappeared! Keep your eyes open for anything!"

The Dreadnok Leader stood with his back against the WHALE watching the idiot G.I. Joe infantryman whipping himself around, searching the ground and around the corners of the hovercraft trying to find him. He never would. The Joe was so obsessed with finding Zartan that he completely forgot about Zarana.

Zartan's sister performed an amazing leap up onto the deck of the WHALE and landed a brutal kick into the Joe doctor's face. Grunt ran around the hovercraft and began some very generic threats.

"Get down from there right now! Get off or I'll open fire!"

Zartan de-cloaked behind the screaming Joe, and thirty seconds later walked away carrying his M-16.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

**Strike Two**

1.

The Mamba was moving faster than Torpedo had before. His Sky Hawk was only creeping closer to it as it wrapped around the northern point of Sammeston Island. Then again, his Hawk had been chewed up by the Cobra chopper's two twin 9mm guns. The turbofan jets were still strong, but the panes on the left side were beginning to shake and rattle, giving Torpedo the fear of a snap-off. If that happened, all the jet power in the world wouldn't save him.

But the new sensation that began to break the Joe SEAL's hard focus was the thunderous boom of explosions beginning to pop-up from the southwest. Unable to resist his curiosity, Torpedo looked toward the island, and saw a few blasts flare up across the western shores.

Rattlers, FANGs and more Mambas could be seen on the far horizon, doing their aerial march towards the side of the island. But the worst sights were the bombs beginning to pour from high in the sky, where Condor bombers, escorted by Night Ravens, were dumping their loads and wreaking havoc on the poor little lump of land called Sammeston Island.

Once again, shame overcame Torpedo. He was so caught up in rage over his failure at the Jane, that he forgot the most important part of the mission: delay the air strike.

Pushing his joystick left, Torpedo turned towards the western shore, and pushed the jets even harder.

2.

The blast from the explosion sent Gung-Ho flying five feet into the air and ten feet down the shore. Sand from the explosion hit Backblast so hard that it knocked the anti-aircraft missile-launcher out of his hands.

Breaker stumbled over to the big Joe Marine and set a hand on his bloody shoulder. "Gung-Ho! Are you alright?" The operations commander swatted the hand away and slowly stood back up.

"I'm fine, dammit! Get back behind some cover; we can't afford to lose you!"

Breaker nodded, ducked as another bomb exploded, and then ran off to hide behind the Whirlwind.

Gung-Ho felt his right leg as he stood up. It was the femur. Not a complete snap, but his thigh was gonna hurt really bad for a long time. _Damn! _ It killed to try to stand on it, but there was no way was he going to let his men know that he should be out of action. He half-hopped over to Backblast, dropped to his left knee and started to help reload the missile-launcher.

"Can you hit those Condors?" he asked.

Backblast shook his head. "Not a chance. They're about five-hundred feet too high."

"Then focus on the Rattlers."

"Shouldn't I focus on the faster--."

"I said take the damn Rattlers! They got all the heavy loads!"

Backblast raised a hand in surrender. "Alright, alright, I'll shoot the Rattlers." An explosion drowned out whatever he said next as Gung-Ho painfully walked out to the Whirlwind.

The G.I. Joe Twin Battle Gun was spinning around like crazy, attempting to lock onto a valid target. Rampart sat at its controls, but could not lock onto any targets just yet.

"How are you doing with the guns, Rampart?"

"I've got about five minutes worth of ammo, Gung-Ho. This is—," he was cut off by a blast near the Whirlwind, "This is suicide! Why would Duke do this to us?"

Gung-Ho would usually get mad at a question like that, but right now, he couldn't help pondering the same question. "He always has a good reason, buddy. Don't throw in the towel yet."

Breaker walked up to the Whirlwind. "We've got a message from Dial-Tone on the Jane. Radar has a dozen Condors bombing us high-in-the-sky, with an equal number of Raven's for escort."

"We don't need to worry about Night Ravens." Input Gung-Ho.

"Maybe not, but we do need to worry about the twenty Rattlers, ten Mambas, twenty FANGs and ten Despoilers heading this way!"

"Despoilers!" gasped Rampart. "If they're on the way, then Destro programmed this game."

"Maybe. It doesn't matter. Let's stay tight, 'cause we'll need to be close if we want a quick extraction."

"Wait! Message coming in!" The Joes waited as Breaker listened to the information come in. "Airborne and Wild Bill have engaged the Cobras. Lift-Ticket is moving in. It's starting!"

Two more explosions from the island rattled the Whirlwind. "Breaker, buddy. It's already started."

3.

"See, Weasel-Man? We didn't need one o' yer plans." Said Monkeywrench.

"Yeah, Zartan always saves the day!" praised Torch.

"Hmph."

A bullet-shot spewed sand in front of Wild Weasel's feet. "Someone who was just rescued by me should be a little more thankful."

Cobra's Ace Pilot looked up to Zartan at his perch atop the deck of the WHALE. "I didn't need your help, Zartan."

"Oh, well, let's just lock you back up inside. I'm sure you'll break out in no time."

Wild Weasel frowned. Once again that damn Dreadnok had the upper hand. _How does he always get control?_ "What do you want of me, Zartan?"

Both men flinched as a series of explosions shook the ground in the distance. "I need your help to get this hovercraft off of the island. The bombing is light now, but when the Rattlers get here there will be nothing left."

"But it has no engine power. How will--?"

"Don't worry about that. I need you and the Dreadnoks to clear a pathway out to the water for this beached WHALE. It will float, but I'm afraid it just doesn't seem to have any 'get-up-and-go' anymore."

Oh, how he hated that smile. Despite that, Cobra's Ace Pilot was thoroughly confused. Despite his hatred of Zartan, he knew that deep down, the mercenary was really very, very cunning, and maybe, just maybe, he had a way of getting off of this island.

4.

A Rattler exploded merely one-hundred yards away, and Backblast could be heard cheering.

Gung-Ho looked out with a tight jaw as the first wave of Cobra fighters began their runs on the island. Rampart had the Whirlwind running at deafening speed, and had already taken down two Rattlers and a couple of FANGs. The geek knew how to shoot long-range, that was for sure.

But the Cobra's could shoot, too. The Joe's gun had taken a couple of hard hits as well, and the bombs were getting closer. The Whirlwind and Backblast were keeping the snakes away from the Joe position so far, but when the second wave of bombers came in, they wouldn't have any ammunition left to fight with.

"Gung-Ho!" Backblast came running up to him. "I'm out, buddy."

"Did you waste any?"

Taken aback, Backblast replied, "No, sir. I took down seven planes and choppers. About all you can ask for with my little rockets."

Gung-Ho grunted then turned back to Rampart. "How are you doing, Rampart?" But the intensely focused shoreline defender couldn't hear him over the sound of the Whirlwind's fire.

Two explosions just twenty yards away knocked the Joe Marine and anti-aircraft specialist down. "Damn!" The pain to Gung-Ho's leg was unbearable. _If only those stupid Cobra's would get out of their damn planes and fight me face to face, then I'd show them the meaning of power!_ Gung-Ho hated being trapped on the ground, unable to see his foe. He wasn't afraid to die, but it really dug into him that he had to sit on the ground with a big target circle on his chest, and _there was no way for him to fight back!_ This wasn't the way he fought, the way a man from_ Louisiana _fought.

Suddenly, there was an explosion in the distance.

Gung-Ho looked back at Backblast. "That wasn't me!"

Breaker came running around the Whirlwind. "Gung-Ho! I've got a message from Lift-Ticket!"

"What is it?" But the Joe Marine knew.

"The Sky Hawk was just destroyed. Airborne barely got out alive."

Sure enough, as soon as everyone looked back out to the ocean, a small parachute could be seen bursting open, then slapping into the water.

Enough was enough. This post was going to die, and the Joes needed to escape. Sitting here was just stupid.

"Can Lift-Ticket or Bill pick us up?"

"Negative, they're too far away fighting Cobras."

"Send out a call for extraction. We need…help."

Breaker started making the call that the Joe team seldom made. It always hurt to hear. As Gung-Ho looked out to sea, in frustration but not in panic—he did not know what panic was—the roar of jet engines _behind_ him made him jump with surprise. Looking up, he saw a Sky Hawk rush over him, pull up, then lower to the sand.

"What the hell?"

"It's Duke's Sky Hawk! Cheered Rampart.

"No, remember? It's Torpedo's Sky Hawk!" pointed out Breaker.

"Uh-oh."

When the aircraft had landed, heavy fire began pouring in at it. The four Joes by the Whirlwind sprinted, or in Gung-Ho's case, walked quickly, to the landing skids, signaled that they were ready and grabbed tight when the Sky Hawk blasted upwards again.

Using its rotational ability, the Hawk spun around, and then rocketed off, perhaps a little too carefully, across Sammeston Island. Gung-Ho gritted his teeth as the Joe 'craft waved back and forth in order to dodge enemy fire.

A Rattler got its sights on the Sky Hawk and started giving chase. It began scoring a few hits against the jet-craft's body and scaring the heck out of the "passengers." Just when the Rattler had closed to one-hundred-and-fifty yards, Breaker called out, "Look!" and pointed to the South.

Gung-Ho turned to see a white spaceship-like aircraft rise up from the island's east coast and open fire on the Rattler. The Cobra bomber was caught totally by surprise, and despite an attempt to turn away, it was ripped to shreds and exploded. The Joes on the Sky Hawk were nearly knocked off by the blast.

As the SHARC passed by, Gung-Ho realized he might actually buy Deep-Six a beer.

5.

Zartan watched Zarana and Monkeywrench emerge from the brush carrying Zandar. "The whole island's getting bombed now. The planes'll reach this side in five minutes, I reckon."

"Excellent." The Dreadnok leader turned around and walked the stern of the WHALE. "Buzzer! Are you done clearing that path to the ocean yet?"

"Yes sir, Zartan sir. The big Joe boat can be pulled around A-Okay. No lumps of sand ta block it!"

"Great! Ah, and in perfect timing, here come the FANGs!" Everyone's eyes turned to see a squadron of six FANG helicopters closing in on the Dreadnok's position.

Wild Weasel came running up to Zartan. "So this is your great idea? Having these measly little pea-shooters drag us all the way back to Cobra Island?"

"Would you rather hang onto the landing skids the whole way back? I didn't think so. This way, we'll have some hostages with us, guaranteeing that the Joes will leave us alone."

Once he was close enough, the Officer aboard the lead FANG called down to the Dreadnok Leader, "We're here with the chains you requested."

"Good! Connect them all to the hovercraft and begin pulling it out to sea!"

The shock could be seen in the Officer's eyes. "You want us to pull that Joe vehicle out to sea?"

"That's correct!"

"That's insane! We're not risking the destruction of our helicopters to attempt saving a trashed Joe hovercraft!"

Zartan raised the M-16 he held and pointed it at the Cobra Officer. "You will risk it, or I'll kill you right now and try it with five helicopters."

The Officer's eyes narrowed with anger, but he did blink once, and then dropped down the chains.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

**Strike Three**

1.

When Roadblock had smacked him in the face with the hangar doors, Gung-Ho should have known that this mission was going to be hell. It was a sign from God, and he was too pissed off at Roadblock to see it at the time.

But this mission was also a growing experience, no doubt about it. Looking back at Sammeston Island from the smoky, rattling Sky Hawk, he watched the island burst into flames from the unholy amount of destruction Cobra was dumping onto it.

_So this is what it feels like to get yer ass kicked._

"Thank god, we made it!" called out Rampart from his stance on the landing skid in front of the Joe Marine.

Gung-Ho turned his head back around and saw the G.I. Jane closing in, now just a stone's-throw away. It looked about as bad as Sammeston Island. The Jane was a big freighter, bigger than a standard commercial freighter, but it was no battleship. Its deck was a pile of destruction, and its hull was still leaking smoke out the sides. There was no doubt that it was taking on water, since it had a slight tilt to it. It was amazing that it was still afloat.

The Sky Hawk closed in on the landing pad, itself cracked and burned but cleared off for the Hawk's arrival. A Tomahawk sat next to the pad, brutally shot up and shattered as well. It was curious that all of its bombs were missing.

As the aircraft closed in on the rear of the freighter, a deafening backfire from the right turbofan engine knocked Gung-Ho off of the Sky Hawk. After falling fifteen feet and landing on his right shoulder, he looked up to see the smoking jet-craft spinning out of control. The rescued Joes desperately held onto the landing skids.

"Let go!" he screamed up to them, "Jump off the damn thing!"

Eventually all of the passengers were thrown free of the Sky Hawk, crashing into debris and vehicles. The Hawk spun horizontally into the control tower, shattering its fuselage, but miraculously holding back a flaming explosion.

"Damn!" Despite his broken leg and shoulder, Gung-Ho scrambled for the Sky Hawk. Using his still-good left arm, he broke open the damaged cockpit hatch. Navy seamen from the deck crew ran over to help him as he reached in and tried to unhook the straps holding Torpedo's unconscious body to the seat.

Unable to unhook the straps with one hand, Gung-Ho screamed a curse into the air. Suddenly, someone grabbed Gung-Ho from behind and shoved him away, where he tripped on some wreckage. Before he could get back up, the Marine saw Duke whipping the straps off. The Joe Master Sergeant then pulled Torpedo out over his shoulder, and offered Gung-Ho a hand up. Ignoring the hurt to his ego, the Cajun Marine accepted, and the Joes ran away from the Sky Hawk moments before it burst into one final explosion as the engine's flames reached the fuel tanks.

Duke wiped the sweat from his brow with his free hand. "Sorry about that, Gung-Ho, but it looked like you were having trouble, and we didn't have much time." A look of concern spread across his face, "Are you alright?"

"Of course I'm alright, Duke. Marines don't get hurt. 'Specially Joe Marines…" With that, Gung-Ho collapsed to the deck of the G.I. Jane.

2.

_Oh my god, don't tell me this is going to work!_

Wild Weasel's teeth were grinding so hard he could feel them cracking. He wanted nothing more than to tear Zartan apart over the failure of his plan to have the FANGs pull the WHALE out to sea, but the little choppers were spread out in a good formation, with six chains of varying length hooked up to the hovercraft, and they were actually sliding the big green behemoth off of the eastern beach of Cobra Outpost Seven.

"Hurry up Zartan! Those bombs is everywhere! We's gonna get vaporized!" cried Ripper.

"Patience, fool! This takes time! Cobra won't attack us because we've got a squadron of FANGs around us, don't worry!"

Wild Weasel could hear a hint of uncertainty in Zartan's voice.

"I've got a question for you, Zartan." sneered Cobra's Ace Pilot.

The Dreadnok Leader groaned and looked up into the sky. "What do you want, Wild Weasel?"

"Do you really think that a handful of FANGs have enough fuel to get us back to Cobra Island?"

Zarana walked over to Wild Weasel. "Can I kill him, brother? Pretty please? He's really digging under me nails."

"Not yet, dear sister. Of course they can't get us to Cobra Island, but don't you feel anything is better than staying on this island, Mr. Super-Pilot-Guy?"

_He's got a point._

"So what do we do when they're out of fuel?"

"If you ask one more question, Zarana will get to kill you." Oh, how Wild Weasel hated Zartan's grin.

"Fine."

Before Wild Weasel could step back to a lone spot at the stern of the WHALE, Zarana stepped up to him. "By the way, Weasel-boy, I think I'll take back me necklace now."

Wild Weasel's face went pale. He had totally forgotten about the jewelry he had stolen from Zarana back at the landing pad. "What…what are you talking about?"

Zarana reached into his chest pocket and pulled out a gold and diamond necklace, then wrapped it around her neck. "I dropped it on purpose to see how stupid ya are. When ya kept for yerself, I knew ya wouldn't help us one bloomin' bit. I admire yer greed, but yer damn stupid. I'm itchin' ta shove ya to the sharks." She kissed the jewel on the end of the necklace and walked back to Zartan.

The rage boiling in Wild Weasel's mind was overwhelming. Why couldn't he ever get a step ahead of these idiot Dreadnoks? Was revenge even a possibility?

As the chance for revenge met him at the boat's stern, it wasn't very difficult for him to slide overboard and swim away laughing.

3.

"We're comin' up on 'em, boys. Let's knock their slithering butts all the way back to Cobra Island!"

"Yo Joe!"

Air battle out over the ocean in a Conquest X-30 was not something that Slipstream saw very often. Ace usually got all the action in his XF-14 Skystriker, since it's assigned to the USS Flagg. But today, the Flagg was twenty-thousand miles away in the Indian Ocean providing support for Anti-Cobra operations in the Middle East. And since the Sammeston Island operation was supposed to be low-key, there were to be no aircraft out over the gulf until Duke gave the "all clear" signal.

But suddenly, Cobra is out in full force and the Jane is attacked. Slipstream is pulled from a great dinner of shrimp salad and garlic bread and scrambled with a squadron of four Conquests, piloted by himself, Ripcord, Flash and Paylod. Slipstream hated to say it, but it was just about a "bottom of the barrel" crew. Granted, Ripcord was a good pilot, and Payload had been a fighter pilot twenty years ago, but he was an astronaut now. Could he still fly a figher? With every other pilot working in the Middle East, anybody who could fly was called to duty, even the Level Three pilot Flash, who had spent more time helping Slipstream design the Conquest's weapons system than in the cockpit.

"Drop to attack speed and let's go help out our buddies." Ordered Slipstream as the swarm of Cobra fighters came into view. Somewhere in that mess was a Dragonfly and a Tomahawk, and they needed some help.

"Should we split up?" asked Flash.

"Negative. We stay in formation and cover our wingmen until we find the helicopters, then we take out any and all attacking aircraft."

"Roger."

This battle was going to take a lot of abstract battle tactics, but the best way to make the strange stuff work was to make it look normal…

It didn't take long to find the first of the Joe helicopters. Two Cobra FANGs exploded and began their fiery collapses into the sea. There was only one chopper pilot that could shoot that fast.

"Wild Bill! Would you like a little assistance?"

"Sheeoot! I was wonderin' when you boys 'ould get here. I've only got about five bullets left!"

"Then let us clear you a way home, cowboy." Slipstream gained immediate missile-lock on an approaching Dominator and launched. Moments later the helicopter-tank shattered.

Two more Conquests threw their missiles into the bucket of fish, and knocked out a pair of Rattlers and a Mamba.

"Woo! It's a turkey-shoot for you fighter-jockeys!" cheered Wild Bill.

"Not for long. Behind us. Three Night Ravens, two-o'clock high." Warned Payload.

After searching behind him, Slipstream fired his thrusters, "Confirmed. Bill, get out of here, you're clear. Conquest group, let's get those Ravens out of the area, fast!"

All of the Joes shot forward as fast as they could, but their speed was no match for the Night Ravens. After only a few moments, Flash cried out, "They've got a missile-lock on me!"

"Stay calm, Flash! Epsilon maneuver! Go!"

The squadron of Conquests split in half and dove in different directions straight for the Cobra strike force. The handful of Rattlers, Dominators and Mambas had tightened their spread over the island in order to form up on the Conquest squadron. When the Joes dove right at them, they were totally caught off guard; every Cobra fighter was forced to dodge for its life, sending the sky into chaos. Two Cobras crashed into each other and the Night Ravens had to veer south to avoid harm.

Skillfully avoiding the melee, the Joes circled around, and gained locks on the confused Night Ravens. Moments later, Cobra was down four more planes.

"Excellent work, guys, the Cobras are just about out of low-altitude fighters." praised Slipstream. "The problem is, they've got a heck of a lot of high-altitude ones that are taking notice of us and dropping down to take a shot at us."

"Then I suggest we find the Tomahawk and escort it to safety as soon as possible." Suggested Payload.

"I don't think Cobra is going to let us have it that easy."

"Here come more Night Ravens!" cried Ripcord.

As Slipstream pulled a high-G turn and faced the massive Cobra long-range fighters, one thing kept gnawing at his heart, and it hurt from both sides.

_I can't just abandon the Tomahawk, but I have to stop the Night Ravens. I guess there's only one thing I can do._

"Flash! Listen to me and do exactly what I say!"

4.

As he held the M-16 in his hands, Zartan studied its shape, its weight, and its features. It wasn't the first time he had ever held an M-16, but he hoped to God that it would be his last.

Oh, it had style, and maybe a little bit of a heroic look to it, but it didn't have punch, and if a gun didn't have punch, then Zartan didn't want it. An AK-47 had punch. You could trust an old, decrepit AK-47 to do more damage than an M-16 that fell in the sand and got stepped on by a poodle. Actually, belt-fed guns were Zartan's favorite to fire, although they could be a bit tricky. The SAW-Viper's super-rifle was the Dreadnok Leader's new favorite gun. _I need to get myself one of those someday._

But, at this point in time Zartan had little choice. The only gun on the hovercraft was this M-16, and the mercenary knew that it was not good character to complain. He left all the whining to Cobra Commander

Regardless of the fire-arm, the day was going perfectly now. The FANGs, although loud enough to drown out any nearby sounds, were pulling the WHALE along and were just about to round the southern tip of the island. The evening was a beautiful dark blue, and the moon was full. But the true beauty of the evening: Zartan was winning. He had all the winning cards. Despite all the brutal battles of the day, he had escaped, atop a Joe vehicle carrying Joe hostages. Nothing could spoil this victory, not even his vulgar henchmen.

Until one of them splashed into the ocean.

"Zartan! There's a Joe attackin' us!" screamed Torch, as he was sent flying through the air and down into the water as well.

The Dreadnok Leader spun around in chest-crackling red rage. "Impossible! The two Joes are locked up in the hold of the hovercraft!" His chest lost its red; the sight before him was one of nightmare for any Cobra agent. "No!"

Snake-Eyes was quickly kicking and punching through the Dreadnoks, sending them all tumbling or flying into the Pacific Ocean. Zarana attempted a tackle but was raised into the air and thrown ten yards overboard. Quivering in confusion and barely able to hold the M-16 rifle upright, Zartan couldn't get a shot off before Snake-Eyes threw a knife threw his hands. The shrieking Dreadnok dropped the gun and fell to his knees. Snake-Eyes stood in front of him, reached down and pulled out the knife.

"B-but how? We-we're on a boat!"

Snake-Eyes pointed over the starboard side, and the Dreadnok leader painfully crawled on all fours over to the edge and slid himself into the sea.

As Zartan popped his head back out of the water, he saw that all of the FANGs had stopped and opened fire on the WHALE. Snake-Eyes was nowhere to be seen.

"Stop you fools!" screamed Zartan. "You'll destroy the hovercraft! That's our only way out of here!" But it was a useless cry. The FANG cannons were too loud. _At least they aren't using their missiles._

A new sound of machine-gun fire rattled over the waves, and a FANG started clanging and shattering. The pilot jumped out and the chopper crashed into the water. A couple of the FANGs changed direction and started shooting towards the stern of the WHALE.

Suddenly, a lifeboat equipped with an outboard motor zoomed around the back of the hovercraft and a Joe on it opened fire on another FANG. Soon that helicopter crashed. The boat swung back around the WHALE as the FANGs attempted to chase it, but it was too fast and maneuverable. The machine-gunner kept shooting at Cobra choppers, and was soon joined by submachine gun fire from the bridge of the hovercraft. It was times like these that Zartan hated the small size of the FANG. It was about the only assault helicopter that could be taken down with a submachine gun.

In only minutes, four FANGs were down, and the remaining two turned back towards the WHALE and opened fire. It wasn't hard for Zartan to figure out what they were doing: blasting the chains free of the hovercraft.

"No, you bastards! You can't leave us here!" As soon as the clamps were broken, the FANGs raced off as fast as their propellers would carry them.

The Dreadnoks floated in the water, watching the Joe team load up onto the lifeboat and buzz away to freedom, abandoning their big green sinking monster.

_How did the Joes surprise us like that? Didn't anyone see them coming?_

"Z-Zartan, Zartan!" wimpered Monkeywrench. "Do we gotta swim all the way back to shore again?"

After swearing to kill every FANG pilot he ever met in the future, Zartan replied, "Start paddling."


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

**Game Over**

1.

"No! Repeater!"

"Shut up, Salvo! Take his place on the fifty!"

"Look out!"

Strafing fire across the right side of the Tomahawk sent Salvo diving to the floor of the smoking helicopter. The Joe anti-tank specialist uncontrollably crashed atop the bleeding body of the latest .50-cal gunner, Repeater. He had just joined the list of injured behind Wet-Suit and Rock'n'Roll.

Even though no longer able to stand behind a turreted machine gun, the obnoxious SEAL Wet-Suit still spew harassments at the other Joes. His wounds were only light injuries to the legs; Salvo wished they were to his mouth…

"Get back up and start shooting that gun!"

"Will you zip-it, Wet-Suit? I'm doin' the best I can!" Salvo pushed himself back up, apologizing to Repeater, who was painfully holding his stomach. _I ain't no air soldier. I shoot armor, not aluminum!_

Resetting the fifty, Salvo attempted to aim as Lift-Ticket swerved the Tomahawk in a hard left turn, trying to dodge an on-coming pair of FANGs. That left them wide-open for the fifty—but it also left Salvo wide open for their front cannons.

Salvo knew that he wasn't paid to be afraid, he was paid to kick Cobra's butt. If he had to do it from some swoopin' chopper out in the middle of nowhere using a little machine gun while tryin' to keep his ham and cheese sandwich down, so be it.

"Yikes!" Salvo dropped to his knees and covered his head as a spray of bullets blasted through the Tomahawk.

"You chicken! Get back up there and start shooting again! Stand yer ground, man!"

"Shut up, Wet-Suit! Don't ever call me a chicken again!" Salvo wasn't sure if he wanted to shoot the Cobras or Wet-Suit.

"Stop dickin' around back there, guys!" barked Lift-Ticket. "I'm barely keeping this thing in the air, and there's a Rattler heading this way! You think these two FANGs are bad? Wait until _that_ gets here!"

_A Rattler? Wow! A tankbuster, like me! Waitaminit!_

The gears of thought creaked thorough Salvo's hairless head. The burly Joe stumbled away from the .50-cal and made for the equipment lying in the back of the Tomahawk.

"Salvo! You dumb-ass! What do you think you're doing? The gun is over here! Get back over _here!_" screamed Wet-Suit. Even Lift-Ticket looked back to see what all the verbal-hassle was about.

What he saw dropped his jaw.

Salvo crawled back from the Tomahawk's rear carrying his ridiculously huge rocket-launcher.

Wet-Suit started laughing in hysteria. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm gonna use my rocket-launcher."

"But that thing isn't surface-to-air! They're anti-tank rockets!" All of his screaming, together with his wounds, were putting Wet-Suit on the edge of a pass-out.

"Yeah, but the Cobra's don't know that. Those jerks have been flying so close since the 20mm ran out of ammo that I don't need any heat-seekers."

Lift-Ticket was too crazy with flying to pay any more attention to Salvo. "Here they come again! Whatever you're gonna try, you better do it quick, because we're not going to last another attack!"

"Turn left!"

Following Salvo's request, Lift-Ticket swung the helicopter left, letting the other side take the bulk of the fire this time. When the 'Hawk's cargo section came into view of the Cobra assault choppers, the sight bugged out the eyes of the pilots.

Salvo fired two rockets at the first FANG, and the second rocket hit it, dead-on. As the little helicopter exploded, the pilot jumped into an eighty-foot dive. The second FANG saw the explosion, and turned away, making a break for the west. Salvo fired two rockets at it, but they missed.

"Great job, Salvo!" cheered Lift-Ticket. "The FANGs are gone."

Salvo set down his massive rocket launcher and sighed. "What about the Rattler?" As if to answer his question, heavy gattling fire began ripping up the front left corner of the Tomahawk.

"We're going down!" cried Lift-Ticket. "Get ready to--!"

But the pilot was cut off by a thunderous explosion. Salvo covered his face, and opened his eyes just in time to see a smokeball were the Rattler used to be—and a Conquest X-30 fly through it!

"What the hell?"

"Tomahawk One, can you hear me? This is Conquest Four." Salvo couldn't place the voice.

"Conquest Four, this is Tomahawk One, I'm receiving you." Replied Lift-Ticket, God bless you buddy! You just saved our butts!"

"Glad to hear it. Are you able to make it back to the Jane?"

"I…I think so, but barely."

"Roger. The sky should be clear if you avoid the island. Good luck, guys. I need to get back to the thick of it."

"Understood. Good luck yourself, uh…"

"Flash."

"Flash! Well, there's a surprise!"

"Se ya in a while, guys."

"Yo Joe!"

2.

Wild Weasel walked up onto the sandy shore and began to pull off his flight-suit. Swimming with the big heavy suit on was horrible, but at least he made it back unscathed. Stripping down to his undies was a little embarrassing, but he just couldn't wear that suit anymore.

As soon as he saw the Joe boat buzzing towards the WHALE, he knew that he had two choices: fight or flee. As much as he hated being a coward, fleeing came with the reward of Zartan getting his butt kicked by Snake-Eyes. That couldn't be passed up.

Looking back across the dark waters, Cobra's Ace Pilot could see the Dreadnoks splashing for their lives, desperately trying to get back to Cobra Outpost Seven. Finally, after almost three days of absolute misery, Wild Weasel smiled.

Until Zartan stepped out of the water.

"Wild Weasel! How did you get here before me?"

Frowning, he answered, "I swam, Zartan."

The Dreadnok Leader ran at the pilot, but his fatigue dropped him to the ground. With the glare of angry humiliation, Zartan growled and pointed, "You couldn't have beaten me, not with that flight suit on!"

"Who cares?" Cobra's Ace Pilot began walking for the brush, "Look, we survived the Joe attack. I'm sure we'll get out of here with another one of your brilliant plans."

"Raaargh!" Zarana tackled Wild Weasel from behind and began beating him as hard as she could.

3.

"That's enough, Zarana."

"But I'm just getting' started, brother!"

"I don't want him killed! That won't go over well with Cobra Commander."

"Alright, alright."

Zartan watched his panting sister weakly step up from Wild Weasel's battered, unconscious body, wipe her brow with bloody hands and walk over to her brother. Cobra's number one pilot may not die by Dreadnok hands, but that didn't mean he would be guaranteed to live.

"We'll leave him here to suffer and fend for himself. Now that Cobra has stopped bombing the island, we can move to the other side and try to signal a FANG or Rattler." Ordered Zartan.

"Okay. The Dreadnok's are just reachin' shore now. I'll make them carry Zandar."

A feeling of failure bit into Zartan's heart. The Joes hadn't received what they wanted, but neither had he. Here he was, stranded on the little island in the Gulf of Mexico that he had used as a safehouse a half-dozen times. All he was supposed to do was clean out the mansion of its wealth and wipe the computers. It shouldn't have been this hard.

But it wasn't the Joes that cost him this victory. It was that Lamprey First Class Niles Skellar. That stupid fly in the ointment ruined everything for both sides. Why was he such a pain? What had he wanted?

One thing was for certain, in the future, Zartan was going to make damn sure that he never worked with anyone who carried that much defiance in them again.

"Good. Our mission here is done."

4.

"How many left, Payload?"

"Six. The Condors have left the area, there are no Rattlers or Mambas left, I cannot locate any more Dominators, but six Night Ravens are still engaging us."

_Wow. I never thought we would do this well. No offense, guys._

They were words of beauty to Slipstream's ears. Ripcord's Conquest was trailing smoke, but still doing okay, and Payload was the only fighter with any missiles left: just one.

"Damn!" cried Conquest Three.

"What's wrong, Ripcord?" asked Slipstream.

"I got behind a Raven, forgetting about the rear machine guns. I got hit pretty good. I'm smoking, _bad_."

"You're losing speed, Ripcord." Observed Payload. "Bogie moving up on your tail. Break right!"

Ripcord took Payload's advice and pulled into a high-G turn right that put the Night Raven directly in line of Payload's missile sights. The last Conquest X-30 missile rocketed free of its wing and smashed into the Night Raven, destroying the black and silver mammoth-of-the-sky.

"Payload, bogie pulling up on you! Dive left!" warned Slipstream, but it was too late. Since he was so involved with saving Ripcord, the Joe astronaut did not keep an eye on his own safety. A Raven swooped in behind him and fired two missiles.

Payload attempted to evade, but it was too late. His Conquest X-30 exploded, and the Joe pilot barely had enough time to eject.

"Damn!" cursed Slipstream as he worked to swing around the back of the Night Raven that had just shot Payload. Before he had even traversed half-a-mile, there was another explosion. Conquest Three had exploded!

"Ripcord! No!" The damage to his jet was finally overpowered. In less than a minute, the odds had dropped to five-to-one.

Slipstream had taken down five aircraft in this fight, but there was nothing more he could do. It was time to retreat. His fuel was dangerously low as it was. Biting his pride, he turned north, and punched it.

Two Night Ravens floated in behind him, and in only moments, they had missile locks. Keeping one hand on the stick and another on the eject lever, Slipstream prepared to move…but before he attempted the dodge, they broke off and flew west.

"What the--?"

"Slipstream, come in, this is Duke on the G.I. Jane."

"Duke! Do you know what's going on here? Two Night Ravens were just about to kill me, then they chickened out!"

"Yeah. The battle's over, Slipstream. Head back to Florida. I convinced the Head Snake to call back the rest of his air force. You won't have any more problems. Flash is already on his way home."

"Roger. Ripcord and Payload need rescue."

"Already on it."

"Thanks, Duke. Yo Joe!"

"Yo Joe."


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

**Wrap-Up**

1.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door. It was something he never liked to do, but he accepted it as something he had to do; as something he _needed _to do, if not for himself, then for the guys who would fight to the end for him.

The beds were all full. The small crew of Navy shipmen that were assigned to the Jane had been thrown around like a set of dice, but they were forced to lie on cots while the superstar G.I. Joes got the beds.

Duke didn't have time to feel guilty.

Seven of his men, some of them the cream-of-the-crop, laid out on the beds, wounded, some almost to death.

_Dammit! This mission was supposed to be easy!_

"Hey, Duke, didn't expect to see you here." Said Lifeline, rather quietly.

"Thought I'd come check out the guys. How are they doing?"

"Most of the guys just have broken bones and burns." Lifeline walked over to Roadblock. "The ones that worry me the most are Cutter and Roadblock. They got blasted pretty badly out there. If Doc hadn't been right there to work on Cutter…well…"

"Yeah." Duke grit his teeth.

"And Roadblock." Continued the Joe rescue medic, "He lost a lot of blood and was severely wounded by some arrows into the arms and chest."

_Damn._

"Well, good work, Lifeline. Keep an eye on 'em, and let me know if anything happens."

"Is that all, sir?"

"Actually, Lift-Ticket and his crew should be landing in just a few minutes. We need you on deck to help with the wounded."

As he grabbed his gear, Lifeline asked, "How many?"

"Rock'n'Roll, Wet-Suit and Repeater. All gun shot wounds. I'm not sure how bad they are."

"Okay."

As Duke turned around to exit, Lifeline grabbed his shoulder.

"Duke. I just wanted to say something."

"Go ahead."

Lifeline looked back at Roadblock. "Back on the Tomahawk, my personal beliefs nearly cost the group their lives. If it wasn't for Roadblock's heroics, there would be four Joes in the morgue now, instead of two injured ones here." Lifeline sighed. "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry, and I understand if I need to be discharged from G.I. Joe."

Duke thought for a moment, then said, "I was already informed of the flight situation by Updraft. Look, everyone here knows the way you feel about violence Lifeline. I have to admit I'm not sure it fits in with an Armed Forces unit, but I also know there are a lot of Joes that owe their lives to you, and your own style of heroics. You're the best Rescue Medic in the whole damn Army, Lifeline, and that's why you're part of the G.I. Joe team. Don't sell yourself short."

Lifeline looked up with a little more hope in his eyes. "Thanks, Duke."

"It's alright, Lifeline." G.I. Joe's Master Sergeant turned to leave, then looked back, "But from now on, make sure you've always got an escort with you, understood?"

The doctor stood at attention, a little paler. "Yes, sir."

"Good."

Walking back to the deck, Duke watched the Tomahawk land on the helipad. It was more of a crash-landing, considering how badly the chopper was shot-up. Everyone available helped get the injured Joes off of the helicopter and down to sick-bay.

Since there were no more helicopters left to go collect the troops left floating in the ocean—both Joe and Cobra, Duke ordered a group of lifeboats to head out and pick them all up.

The day was far from over.

2.

The rumbling on the ground woke Wild Weasel up, elevating the level of his headache ten-fold. Opening his eyes, he thanked the gods that it was night-time, and that there was no bright light shining on him to escalate the headache even more.

Rolling over, he looked down the beach to see a Dominator treading towards him. _Was this a rescue? Where is Zartan?_

Standing up, Cobra's Ace Pilot waved his hands, and was answered with heavy cannon fire. Dropping to the ground, the pilot cried out, "Wait, you idiots! I'm on your side!"

The Dominator continued to roll up to him and eventually stopped about ten yards from his flattened body. "Stay on the ground, Joe! You are now a prisoner of the Cobra Empire!"

"You idiot! I'm _part_ of the Cobra Empire! I am Wild Weasel, commander of the Cobra Air Force!" More cannon fire rocketed over his body.

"Silence, Joe!" The Iron Grenadier popped open the cockpit and jumped out, carrying a sub-machine gun. "Wild Weasel wears a red flight suit. You're wearing nothing but underwear and a t-shirt! You're more likely a surf-junky than a Joe agent. Get up and get in the cockpit. You're going to Cobra Island as my prisoner. When we get back, you're going to be interrogated, and I will be greatly rewarded."

"Fool. When we get back, you'll be dead in fifteen minutes."

After another order to silence himself, the Iron Grenadier took Cobra's Ace Pilot free of that damning little lump of land called Cobra Outpost Seven.

3.

"Fellow Joes," began Duke from the helipad of the G.I. Jane, with the trashed Tomahawks behind him, "We have suffered a harsh pounding today, but also completed a difficult mission. Is that a victory or a defeat? The best I can think of it is as a draw. We destroyed a Moray. They destroyed a WHALE. We destroyed a huge portion of the Cobra Air Force, they took a good bite out of ours. We hurt the Dreadnoks, but is that really anything to brag about?"

Some Joes mumbled, a couple snickered.

"The mission was to explore Sammeston Island and get Cobra off of it if they were there, but now look at it! It looks like Bikini Island did in the '50's! Mainframe and Snake-Eyes managed to get the computer hard-drives out of the mansion before the bombing got too heavy, and hopefully we can get some information off of them. It's too early to say.

"Whether you feel that today was a victory or a defeat, let me tell you this: you guys fought your asses off out there, and I appreciated that more than I can ever say. General Hawk appreciates it even more than I do. We know that you guys are the best damn troops in the world, and have only one more thing to say to you guys…"

"Steak dinner's for everybody when we get back to the PIT!"

"_Yo Joe!_" The battle cry was so loud, every downed pilot around the island heard it and turned their heads.

After all the lifeboats had returned, and the Joes went their separate ways about the ship, Duke looked back towards Florida, thankful that he was finally free of that damn little lump of land called Sammeston Island.


End file.
